Hunters from the Light
by Gatekat
Summary: Knights of Light, Drift/Wing. Drift is a pawn in a game of many masters, all of whom he is determined to reject.  Yet there is one mecha he had never been able to reject fully, and he hasn't even tried in a very long time.
1. Drift

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Drift/Mirage, Mirage/Prowl  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 mecha/mecha  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Sticky, PnP  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Drift is a pawn in a game of many masters, all of whom he is determined to reject. Yet there is one mecha he had never been able to reject fully, and he hasn't even tried in a very long time.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal .com/290 .html ) We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: Yes, I'm doing that evil thing and changing the definitions of my time units.  
>nanoklik = 18 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; vorn = 72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

Pic that goes with this chapter: ( alteride .deviantart .com/art/Hunters-from-the-Light-tser-1-263495821 )

* * *

><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 01: Drift<strong>

* * *

><p>Mirage snapped out of recharge at the roar near his audio. He was fully on line, noted the bright glow of the Great Sword's crystal and pressed close to his lover's chest by the time the sound of denial and grief reached half way to a keen. Arms reached around to embrace the gleaming, angular white armor as Drift began to shake, still deep in recharge and unable to bring himself out.<p>

With a soft vent of air Mirage gently slid open one of Drift's dataports and plugged in. At first he simply drifted at the top levels of the warrior's processors, taking in his true state of awareness, defenses and just what was playing to his processors to create such a physical reaction.

Flashes of memories and not memories jumbled into a dream of sorts. Wing's kiss and parting touch. Wing's death. Drift's death. Dai Atlas and Axe gray and gone. New Crystal City in smoldering ruins. Decepticon corpses scattered among the fallen Knights and citizens.

It was all familiar to the noble Autobot. A sequence he'd comforted Drift from too many times.

Less familiar images of battles, mostly hard ones with heavy kill rates. If it weren't for the fact that most opponents were Decepticons, Mirage would have assumed they were memories from Deadlock.

Wherever they came from, it was all about death. Something Drift was more comfortable with than pleasure and full tanks.

With a soft sigh to himself, Mirage gently nudged the memory replays towards more pleasant ones. First of sparing with Wing and himself. Then of interfacing that inevitably followed.

It would leave Drift with a level of desire that often turned to violent interfacing when he powered up, but it was easier to deal with than a Drift waking from reminders that Wing was dead and gone.

With his recharge settled and drifting towards cycling up Mirage backed out of Drift's systems as silently as he'd entered and unplugged himself. He had just long enough to be prepared for his lover's mood. Even if it wasn't much of an act to be completely submissive, to bare his valve and ask nothing but to be used for his mate's pleasure, it was no longer part of his primary function.

Yet there were times when it was useful. Drift wasn't the only mecha who could be calmed quickly by submission in the berth.

The rumbling growl of Drift's powerful, high-efficiency engine was the first indication of the mecha coming out of recharge. Then his EM field extended, seeking to know whose warmth was so close. Mirage responded in kind, knowing full well that Drift was a mecha that attacked first and sorted things out later if he was unsure of his safety. It wasn't long before the exotic white armor moved, rolling forward to pin Mirage on his back.

Fields flared and mingled, need on one side, willing compliance on the other as Mirage slid his legs apart and lifted his knees to rub his thighs against Drift's hips. Inviting, welcoming, warm, slick and compliant.

Blue optics dimmed as they looked down into bright golden ones. Strong black fingers tightened around slender light blue wrists as a spike cover snapped open.

Mirage rolled his hips to place his valve entrance at just the right angle for the thrust and bit back a moan of mixed pleasure and pain as the fully pressurized spike stretched his unprepared and not quite slick enough valve. The noble was simply glad that Drift wasn't truly sadistic. There was a line between not caring and enjoying causing pain that the white mecha had yet to try to cross with him.

All Mirage had to do was hold relatively still, remain pliant for the short time it took Drift to thrust and grunt his way to an overload and wait for the white mecha to come fully to himself. It was simple with all the protocols and modifications Mirage had to survive deep cover among the Decepticons. Simply turn off anything but the most basic pressure sensors and relax.

It was much easier than with most Decepticons; Drift was much, _much_ more pleasant to look to begin with. Even grunting and lost in the half-awareness of his aggression he was an elegant and exotic construction.

With a deep, hard thrust that arched Drift's backstrut and grunt by Mirage's audio, the rush of transfluid signaled Mirage to cautiously turn the sensors back on. Heat, slickness and the stretch that usually meant pleasure easily overrode the lingering discomfort of Drift's entry. Mirage cycled his valve walls, questioning if Drift was done or if there would be a second round.

A low, soft chuckle echoed by Mirage's audio. "You could make a mecha think you get off on having it rough."

"If I got off on it, I wouldn't be interested you continuing," Mirage pointed out tolerantly.

"Mmm, three joor until my next shift, I think I can oblige you," Drift purred in amusement.

* * *

><p>His finish and poise flawless, Mirage stood at the door to the SIC's office and pinged for admittance. Formality and appearances; this was the world he had been created for. Yet he had also been created to lead his cadre while he served his House Lord and his Prime.<p>

The door slid open and he maintained his poise as he stepped in. It would not due for anyone to perceive the truth for his coming. Prowl, likewise, maintained a completely professional demeanor as Mirage stepped inside his office and the door slid closed, then clicked to a command-level lock that only a handful of mechas could override or hack.

Only then, secure and alone, did either mecha relax their stance. Without a word Prowl slid his chair back and opened his arms. Equally silent, Mirage melted against the larger, heavier armored mecha as he straddled Prowl's lap.

EM fields extended and caressed, welcoming and gentle as they mingled and then meshed.

A soft sound of pleasured relief escaped one of the mechas as the constructs and mangled ways the outside required of them slid away.

A data cable was offered. Fingers caressed each other lightly as the cable was handed over. Two sets of golden optics dimmed slightly as the connection was made and familiar processors brushed against each other for the first time in too long even though it had only been a few orns.

~I will protect you from these missions, my bonded,~ Prowl whispered. ~Merely tell me you wish it and it will be done.~

~We are too few, my sweet,~ Mirage replied even as he moaned on another level to feel the care his bonded, his servant and property, had for him. It was so much more than he'd ever dared hope for from the arranged bonding. ~Too many need to be watched.~

~I will find a way,~ Prowl countered, aching to have their true status acknowledge by more than the Prime and CMO. ~I miss you, my lovely Mirage. You should not be abused this way.~

~Commander Jazz...~ was all Mirage could say in reply. A perfect summary of everything that stood in their way. One of the very few mechas who could argue Prowl to a standstill and the one mecha who would not simply accept loosing Mirage's abilities in keeping their own in check.

~I will find a way,~ Prowl insisted, even if he didn't know how yet. He shifted his focus to their duty. ~Does Drift require an edit?~

~Not yet,~ Mirage relaxed, enjoying the warmth and closeness of the other half of his spark. ~What troubles him is from the artifact. The Great Sword wants something. He simply has not realized it yet. I do not know what, though I am sure it has to do with Wing and the Knights.~

Prowl hummed softly in acknowledgement as his battle computer began to take that information in and analyze it.

~You have done well as always, master,~ he said as his hands stroked down the elegant blue and white back. ~Allow me to sooth the abuse you suffered in your service.~

~Yes,~ Mirage relaxed into his bonded's attentions without reservations. Prowl had been created for him, to serve him as the perfect organizer. He had acquired so much more in the elegant Praxian frame. Prowl had become a mecha that adored him, an eager berthmate, a guardian willing to fight to protect him both physically and politically, a brilliant strategist and safe confidant.

It was a private joke, and something of a stress for Prowl, that their ranks in the outside world were now reversed. It still made Prowl's spark quiver uneasily to give Mirage orders as a proper SIC should.

It was only moments before the gentle pulses of energy from Prowl, mixed with talented fingers along Mirage's back, drove the noble first creation to forget about everything but how lucky he was to have this mecha as his own.

* * *

><p>Drift's optics snapped on line, giving an unearthly blue glow to the otherwise dark room. He reached for Too Pure For This World before his processors had come fully on line, his hands wrapped around the familiar Great Sword with its glowing blue stone.<p>

"What is it, Drift?" the cultured voice of his current lover, a mecha he would never have been able to see, much less touch before the war, rolled over him.

"Just more memory glitches," he grumbled even as he held tight to Too Pure For This World, knowing the semi-sentient sword _wanted_ something. Wanted him to follow, to carry it where it wanted to go. After all the millennia he'd carried it, cared for it, learned from it, he knew full well it wasn't going to let up until he complied.

"This one was different," Mirage put a delicate hand on his shoulder.

Drift couldn't help but compare them at the touch. Drift was forged and reforeged for power, for strength and toughness to survive in harsh conditions. As elegant and exotic as Drift looked, underneath the gleaming white armor and training of New Crystal City he was still a street fighter forged in war. Mirage was natural elegance, natural grace, all speed and agility ... he forced his thoughts to stop there, before he _named_ why he kept Mirage close and tolerated the noble's attitude.

"Different?" No, it hadn't been that different. Wing's death. His spark split between the sword he'd been bound to in functioning and the Well where Primus would make him whole. The longing, pain and blinding grief as he started at Drift's shattered and dismembered frame, long gray in deactivation at the edge of a razed New Crystal City. Dai Altas's much larger frame not far away. How wrong the rage had felt as he'd been pulled away from his mate and his creator's remains. The familiar coldness that closed around his spark that felt so alien.

Half real memory, half things that had never happened.

Mirage vented softly.

"You cried your own designation, that you were deactivated," he murmured. "Your sword glowed as well." He paused at the stiffness in Drift's frame. "What does it want?"

"It?" Drift growled at him.

"The sword," Mirage met his optics coolly, unafraid. "It's doing this to you. It _wants_ something and it won't give up until you capitulate."

"It's a _sword_," Drift snarled, denying the truth they both knew.

"It's a sword with enough spark energy to read alive and a long history of being classified as semi-sentient," Mirage pointed out. He arched an optic ridge at Drift's blank stare. "You didn't know."

"Just a sword," Drift muttered, looking away, though it was still clutched in his hands.

"It is a Great Sword, Drift," Mirage murmured, molding himself against Drift's back. "I know a great deal about their history and legends."

"You _what_?" he twisted around to glare. "You never said anything."

"You never asked," Mirage shrugged.

Drift growled at him and pulled away to stand. There was no point in denying it. As much as he hated it, his lover was correct. Too Pure For This World would win. It _always_ won.

Just like the mecha whom it really belonged to.

* * *

><p>The cover of darkness isn't Drift's element. Predominantly bright white no matter his alt and always the kind to charge into battle with little concern for tactics until he was fighting one-on-one, Drift detests those who hide in the shadows, thinking they are cowards.<p>

Frequently he's right.

Occasionally he has doubts.

This meeting is one of those. He's not sure who or what he's traveling to meet, only that Too Pure For This World won't let him rest until he takes the blade where it wishes to go. Yet what could possibly compel Wing's sword to have him travel in the night? No one _Wing_ would be drawn to would be a coward. A killer, yes. Insane, too often. Trouble, without a doubt.

But a coward? No. Drift couldn't accept that.

Dawn is less than a breem away when Drift picked up the first signature, still well ahead of him. Neutral, or at least without any faction modifier to their transponder that Drift knew.

Within a klik he could pick up seven. Half a klik later a microbot was added to the list.

A breem and a half and he'd be on them, less if they chose to greet him.

Driving over ragged badlands, Drift noted that while they moved, it wasn't far. Setting up in a formation of sorts to greet him. _How_ they intended to greet him was now the question.

Not one took to the air.

Drift continued, cautious but completely unwilling to change his approach now. He would face this group head on, just as he had faced every other.

A small rise, only a couple times Drift's height, was ahead. With the sun rising behind it, it was the perfect place to attack from and the signals were right on top of it.

He slowed and transformed, his sensors locked on the eight signals he was aware of and searching for more.

These were not the first to hunt him. They would not be the last.

This group would learn like all the others that it did not pay to hunt...

"Drift," a familiar yet impossible voice breathed his designation from above, drawing his optics to the not-right but very real frame of a mecha that couldn't be there.


	2. Wing's Recharge

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Drift/Wing, Wing/Kimark  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Sticky, Death  
><strong>Summary<strong>: When a group of Knights of Light crosses a dimensional barrier unaware, at least one will find the peace they have all lost.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: Yes, I'm doing that evil thing and changing the definitions of my time units.  
>nanoklik = 18 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; vorn = 72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

* * *

><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 02: Wing's Recharge<strong>

* * *

><p>::He's getting worse,:: Silk commed the others, her voice occupied with a gentle humming song in an effort to sooth their delirious cadre leader's recharge. Her delicate red hands stroked Wing's chest seam, sending gentle magnetic pulses to calm his distressed systems and wildly pulsing spark.<p>

"It's _that_ sword," the dark red and gray Ankmorian light jet growled with a motion to the second Great Sword that Wing always carried. Her small, multi-sheath wings twitching in barely contained anger. "It's infected him, just like _he_ did. It's set on destroying us all."

"Let it rest, Marwir," Talon put a hand on their most volatile member's shoulder and extended his thumb to stroke her wing-joint in a soothing circle. Rather pointedly, no one commented on her slight lean into the touch or how her tension began to seep away at the silent urging of the closest thing she had to a trine leader. It didn't matter that neither of them were Seeker. She had enough Seeker coding to feel the need for Trine and she trusted him as no other. "Drift returned to the Well long ago."

Marwir ruffled her dark wings and growled at her own helplessness to sooth her leader's delirious keens of loss. "I'm going to the bridge," her wings twitched in distress as she made her escape from Wing's quarters on board the Sparklight. Talon gave Tetris a glance and followed her out when the cadre's SIC nodded.

"Silk, let me be the one when he comes around," Tetris knelt next to the unusually delicate fighter jet, the only one of their small cadre that still _looked_ like she belonged in New Crystal City. "My frame can withstand his needs better than yours."

"If _that's_ the logic you want to use, it's my duty," a deep voice rumbled from the far side of the room. Their only grounder's headfins flashed yellow-white, a distinctly bright counterpoint to his deep purple optics and largely white frame.

"But you've never desired to share his berth," Silk objected with a rather horrified expression.

"Kimark is correct, if frame strength and armor were the only factors," Tetris's logic took the fore before he could censor himself. "However, I believe we all understand that Wing would be far worse off if he interfaced with one who did not desire it."

"Mortified is what he'd be," Silk pointed out a bit sharply. "He'd rather do without than interface someone who didn't desire him."

"We also all know who he imagines he's with," Kimark's said with unusual kindness in his voice. "My frame's the best match."

Tetris suddenly paused, even the colored shapes cascading around on his black and gray paint slowed as more of his secondary processor power was dedicated to reviewing information. A small flicker in his EM field drawing their smallest member out from her nest inside his armor to scamper up to his shoulder and turn a baleful orange gaze on the former Kaon gladiator.

"Do you desire him?" Tetris asked calmly, his electric indigo visor locking onto the suddenly squirming younger Knight.

"Not the way you and Silk do, or even Flashfire," he admitted. "But enough to want to help him." He dropped his gaze a bit before focusing on their leader's trembling frame. "I'm no more ignorant of the look he gets when he watches me than any of you."

"He does want your frame," Silk murmured uneasily. "But he isn't coherent enough to recognize who you are until it is over."

"I know," Kimark said firmly. "I know what I'm offering." His gaze locked on Tetris. "He's no worse than you are after a binding?"

"No, no worse," the Rotor inclined his helm. "Generally he's gentler than I am."

"Then let me do this for him," Kimark didn't quite plead, though the intent was there for any to read.

Tetris nodded to him and stood. "I trust you to comm if you are out of your depth."

Silk hesitated, looking between Wing, a mecha she had spend many vorns training, and Kimark, whom she trusted with her spark on the battlefield nearly every orn. Slowly she stood and let him take her place on Wing's berth edge.

"Comm when he is in regular recharge if you can," she said before slipping away with Tetris.

Alone in the room with his distressed leader, Kimark began to stroke Wing's chest, humming a song from long ago. A memory from when he'd come to New Crystal City, young, afraid and with frequent recharge glitches. Like Silk so skillfully did, he extended his field to brush against Wing's, offering the connection.

What came back at him drew a reflexive growl before he understood.

It wasn't just his grounder frame that drew Wing to him as a replacement for his long gone mate. It was the heritage of violence, the very thing that Kimark had always tried to suppress and minimize.

Dimming his visor he surrendered, shutting down as many of his control protocols as he dared to let the beast inside him rush to the surface. Even unconscious and delirious in the grip of a Great Sword's will, Wing recognized the mixture in Kimark's field and embraced it with an intensity Kimark didn't think the normally easy-going Knight had in him.

"Drift..." Wing's voice was weak, disoriented, but pleading.

It hurt to hear, to feel, and for a moment Kimark doubted his choice. The others knew Wing so much better. Understood him.

But Kimark understood what Wing _wanted_, _needed_, in this moment. It was up to him to give his leader what he craved so desperately.

"I'm here," Kimark murmured, drawing Wing just a little further into the land of the functioning once more. "Come back to me."

"Drift," the designation was spoken with such relief it made Kimark whine softly in regret that he was taking part in such a lie. It was no longer Wing using him. Somehow, he was using, abusing, Wing's memories, his trust.

White arms reached out to draw him closer and Kimark complied without question or hesitation, knowing it was expected. Knowing that was what needed to happen. He didn't wait for Wing's spike to pressurize to slide his valve cover open and offer the slick heat of his chassis for Wing's relief.

It was an offer Wing took. Thrusting his hips up to drive his spike fully into the welcoming valve with a moan. Embracing his lover Wing could only _feel_. Existence had widened, but it was still a narrow band of data from pleasure sensors and his EM field warmly enmeshed with his lover's.

Even in the moment he knew this was not Drift against him, but it was so close, close enough to easily loose himself in the fantasy, the _delusion_ for a blissful moment. Just a moment, but in that moment the city he'd grown up in still existed, his creators were still functioning, his love still functioned ... existence as more than surviving to see the next orn, the next battle, the next recharge plagued by memories of things long dead.


	3. Bid by the Sword

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat (with Karl Wolfemann for the combat)  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Drift/Wing  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13 for violence  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Violence  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Wing. Drift. In the same place at the same time.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaoen/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

* * *

><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 03: Bid by the Sword<strong>

* * *

><p>Wing stepped onto the bridge of the Sparklight. His gaze swept over the two mecha there and the small space. Tetris was at the helmscanners with the ever-present black and orange microbot Klinge on his shoulder. At comm/weapons was Marwir, who shared his frametype and almost nothing else, trying to not look at him. Everything was calm, in good repair, clean, in order. It was as it should be on a ship crewed by Knights of Light.

A nudge from Too Pure For This World and Wing broke his contemplation of the bridge and stepped over to Tetris. With a soft stroke along Klinge's back to earn a happy chur, he quietly gave his second in command a heading and distance.

He knew by the scattering of his ever-shifting pattern than Tetris was shocked to his very spark. It was more than enough for Marwir to openly stare at them.

"They have settled. The location of the Great Sword..."

"Is with _Prime_," Klinge squeaked with agitation, interrupting Wing's explanation. "We're going to where the Prime is."

"If he tries to interfere, he will fair no better than the Decepticons who stood in our way," Marwir growled, ruffling her wings and flaring her armor to back up her threat with display.

"No, he will not," Wing agreed softly, anger and pain a rich counter note in his naturally smooth voice.

* * *

><p>The Sparklight set down in the badlands of southeastern Oregon far from any roads larger than a dusty path, yet only Kimark thought anything of it.<p>

"I take it our mystery Knight is a flier?" he glanced towards Wing as the cadre of eight disembarked at Wing's order. They would camp under the sky, meditate and wait for the local Knight to arrive.

Most of the Knights shot him a curious look, but Wing shrugged slender wings. "I do not know. It wanted us to be here," he touched the pommel of his Great Sword.

"Right," Kimark tipped his helm in acknowledgement of who was really in charge in this and turned his attention to camouflaging their ship with Silk's assistance.

"Tetris," Wing turned to his SIC and the closest thing he had to a lover and confidant since his mate died. "Take Flashfire and Marwir to scout the area. We're in Autobot territory, their stronghold, by invitation. That means we can not attack _anything_ on this planet that we can not confirm is a Decepticon."

"Which means we retreat before we fight," Talon focused on them all, but gave special attention to Marwir.

"Got it," she grumbled, flicking her wings at her pseudo-trine leader and cadre leader. "No fighting with the locals, mecha or organic."

"Good," Wing smiled approvingly at his mismatched unit as the three fliers took off and others went about the tasks of preparing their camp. He gave a more private smile for Kimark. The former gladiator from Kaon was the only non-flier and thus the only one who didn't particularly grasp the _need_ for enough room to stretch one's wings and engines.

* * *

><p>"He's coming," Flashfire roused them all from meditation or recharge shortly before dawn. "Single mech, mid-sized grounder alt mode, with a Great Sword."<p>

When he was sure everyone was coherent enough to catch it, he databurst what he'd picked up.

Wing, Marwir and Kimark exchanged looks, all a mixture of disbelief, denial and shock. Wing's face showed a desperate hope he couldn't completely deny while Marwir looked ready to go on a rampage.

"What?" the young Seeker, who'd only just received his final upgrades when New Crystal City was razed, looked between the older members of the cadre.

"It's ... Drift," Wing managed to keep his voice level only with a great effort. Much to his relief, no one pointed out that Drift had been in the Well for as long as they'd been a cadre. "It's someone doing a very good impersonation of Drift," he forced himself to correct after fighting down the completely irrational hope. It wasn't as if he hadn't _seen_ the grayed frame or felt the cohort bond snap. There was still an empty place in his spark where that bond had once been, one of so many shattered that orn. It wasn't as if he couldn't still _feel_ Drift's spark resonance in Challenger of Ways and the Great Sword's willingness to accept a new wielder either.

No, Wing knew Drift was in the Well with Primus. Knew it, felt it, believed it ... and still hoped to be proven wrong.

"I will greet him," Wing ordered with a calm, even voice. "Be prepared for battle or celebration."

If any were inclined to object, their own Great Swords pulse of agreement silenced them. Instead they all watched as Wing stepped up to the short cliff-edge to look down on the unknown mecha, the bright local sun raising behind their leader, silhouetting him and concealing him.

They all heard the white mecha gasp, but only Wing was close enough to feel the brush of a frantically extended field.

"Drift ... _my_ sword!" Wing couldn't decide whether he was ecstatic to find a mecha that so perfectly matched his love or shocked and disturbed by the implications of the Great Sword he carried. Not just the implications to himself, but to their true location.

"Wing," the stranger's voice shook faintly with the sound of two short swords dropping from a ready position.

::He won't defend himself,:: Klinge churred on the secure cadre band. ::Why does he say Wing's designation wrong?::

::He had better not need to,:: Wing growled in response before leaping to the same level as the stranger. "It's designation, stranger," he demanded, his short swords still firmly in hand and held ready.

The formal challenge of one Knight to another was lost on Drift, but not the question.

"You're dead, Wing," Drift challenged instead, though he did nothing to bring himself to the ready.

"My designation if Wing," he corrected the subtle differences and stacked them up against his history and ... "say your designation."

"Drift," he replied, wary but compliant as he contemplated the sub-glyph changes to Wing's designation. This Wing was darker, more worn down ... far too alone.

::Is it just me, or does he have the same look an initiate got when they faced Dai Atlas for the first time?:: Silk murmured. ::Not at all like the Drift I remember.::

::He's the one _I_ remember,:: Marwir hiss, her small wings trembling in rage. ::Coward, good for nothing murderer.::

::When Wing found Deadlock, he was a Con, a mech who believed his one use was for violence,:: Kimark explained to the confused looks she got. ::Wing changed him.::

::He changed Wing,:: Marwir growled before silencing at a sub-voc rumble from Wing.

"You are dead as well, yet this is not the Well," Wing countered with more calmness than anyone expected of him ... and less than Drift was used to. "It's designation."

Drift looked away, unable to meet the intense two-colored gaze. "Too Pure For This World," he answered quietly, still not feeling right about speaking the designation out loud.

"Give it to me," Wind's voice was cold as he sheathed his short swords and extended his hand for the Great Sword the other carried. "_You_ did not earn the right."

"Your foundling is getting uppity," Marwir sneered from the cliff edge when Drift refused to move other than to snap his gaze back to Wing's mismatched optics.

"Who are you?" Drift demanded, glaring up at her as he finally shifted to a ready position again.

"Marwir, Knight of the Circle of Light," she flared her short, thin wings in a full display of the frametype she shared with Wing as she leapt down to join them, her short swords drawn. "Surrender the Great Sword or have it taken."

"Marwir," Wing rumbled a warning, his hand still outstretched for the Great Sword with the same designation as his own.

"_That_ is not a Knight," she snarled outright with a distasteful glare and motion at Drift. "It is our _duty_ to retrieve the Great Sword."

"Then bring the rest out here and try," Drift growled at her, his armor shifting to protect him better against the swords he expected to face.

Wing glared at her, a warning and reprimand all in one, but stepped out of the invisible circle of a sparing ring around them and motioned the rest of the cadre to join them.

"Drift," he tested the designation, tasted it and found it painful. Drift had never been a gentle designation, a Knight's designation, but it suited the mech. This Drift knew pain and loss even greater than his own had. The changes were much like those to Wing's own. Time had not been kind to neither of them. "You don't have to..."

"Shut it," Drift growled at him, his optics locked on the slightly lighter built of his dark colored opponent. "Bring it on," he demanded.

She obliged him without hesitation, rushing towards him with her own blades extended. She wasn't on a straight line for him, angled off to the side to force him to keep turning to keep himself facing her.

Expression grim and face curled into a snarl, Drift lunged to intercept her, one sword forward to catch hers, the other angled for a strike when the first made contact. She pulled back with practiced ease, shifting to absorb his movement and block his strike. Her hands were moving fast, blocking and returning his own blows with irritating ease. Suddenly, she twisted her body to put a leg behind him, pressing a hard attack to drive him backwards.

Like a novice he fell for the trap, then fell with a heavy thud onto his back. Optics brightening to a near white, Drift got one pede under himself and kicked upwards to regain his stance.

"And you think you're worthy of being a Knight?" She scoffed at him, giving him just enough time to recover before pressing the attack again, keeping him off-balance and working him to the outer edges of the sparring ring.

"Not your choice," Drift snapped back as he struggled to score a hit, any hit, even at the cost of his own frame. "Dai Atlas..." his statement was cut off by a flurry of strikes delivered with entirely too much ease around his guard.

"Isn't here anymore to let him keep you!" She lunged, trying to push him outside of the sparring ring. Though aware of the uneasy murmur it created among her fellows, Marwir didn't care. She felt a little bad about the growl of Wing's turbines, but it created the desired response in her target.

Drift roared and launched his own flurry of attacks with complete disregard for his own safety, his discipline broken.

She blocked the first few blows, then shifted to slice his leg, sending him back to the ground solidly as her swords scored his armor deeply. She could have just about taken it off, if she'd wanted to, but she had that much restraint.

A low rumble from Wing warned her that she was pushing the limits severely, but Drift simply cut off the energon flow to the severed lines and stood, ready to fight on.

"Enough," Wing called out, demanding that the match end.

Drift ignored him, too caught up in fight mode to recognize that stopping was even possible.

Marwir sheathed her blades, giving Drift just enough time to land a glancing blow before a lightning fast, twisting move sent him crashing to the ground, her claws as his throat and his short swords flying.

"He's not safe," she pointed out to the other Knights before he kicked up to dislodge her

"Drift was _never_ safe," Wing snapped at her as he stepped in to grab Drift before he could attack again, locking the mech's arms between their frames and extending his field to forcefully mesh with the furious warrior in an effort to bleed off the anger. He stilled in shock as their meshed fields began to feed him information.

~Shu, Drift,~ Wing murmured, using their meshed fields to transmit the signal. ~Shu, my love.~

The white grounder stiffened and tried to twist to look at Wing, desperate for it to be the truth even as he knew it couldn't be.

But ... was the illusion, the _delusion_, really so terrible to give into? It was Wing's Great Sword doing it, after all.

The grip on his arms loosened, allowing him to turn around in Wing's embrace and stare at the mismatched optics almost even with his own.

"How?" Demand. Plea. Surrender.

Instead of words, Wing pulsed love through their meshed fields, took in the way it unnerved Drift, and gently brought their mouths together for a kiss that was as exploratory and questioning as it was familiar.

With a shudder Drift surrendered completely. He knew he should resist this, that something was terribly wrong, but the field meshed with his own reinforced his optics and sensors. Yet the simple truth was that this could be Turmoil kissing him for all he cared as long as the illusion held. He wanted this to be real too much.


	4. A Touch from the Past

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Drift/Wing  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 mech/mech  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Sticky  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Despite his intense joy at encountering Drift, any Drift, Wing knows he must dig deeper for the sake of his cadre.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaoen/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

* * *

><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 04: A Touch from the Past<strong>

* * *

><p>Drift trembled, moaning as a lover who knew him like no other played his frame, fanning the flames that had him nearly incoherent with pleasure from the simple touches and kisses. Only vaguely aware that they had moved, that there was a berth against the back of his knee joins, he willingly allowed himself to be brought down on the soft surface. Transformation sequences flattened his long spaulders while Drift focused on exploring, reclaiming the mouth he'd fantasized about for so long.<p>

The mouth drew away, prompting a protest that muted the moment the pliant metal caressed his neck cables. Then Drift could only moan and rock his hips up against the weight on top of him, desperate for more, for anything, even for the spike he could feel heating behind the thin cover. Here, in _these_ arms, being penetrated did not carry the stigma it did everywhere else for him. Here it was not a mark of weakness, of being defeated, but a sharing of pleasure, a show of trust.

"Oh, Drift," the voice he could never hear enough of moaned the designation in burning passion. "Spike," Wing shivered as his valve cover slid aside, his legs spread to straddle his lover's hips. "Fill me, Drift."

Blindly stroking the angled planes of Wing's chassis Drift complied without question, without even grasping what he was told in his higher processors. He roared as his hips thrust up, encasing his spike in the welcoming slick tightness and heat.

"Yes!" Wing howled, his entire frame arching into the thrust, welcoming the invasion of his lover and taking him in even deeper. For several thrusts he simply enjoyed it, enjoyed feeling _Drift_ with him once more, even if it wasn't _his_ Drift. He ran his fingers over a hardline cover, silently asking access.

Tension. Hesitation. Then it slid open as Drift's pleasure-glazed light blue optics cleared somewhat and focused on the golden pair above him as the hardline was made.

Firewalls refused to drop however, allowing the flier only into the top portions of Drift's processors. Enough access to share and enhance their pleasure, but little more.

"Drift," Wing whispered the designation in all reverence. Not the designation of the mech under him, filling him, but the designation of what he hoped they would become. With that he dropped his firewalls, far more than Drift had.

More than Drift could conceive of doing, even with _his_ Wing.

"You are crazy," Drift murmured, all the sting taken out of the words by the echo in his mind and the moan as he shuddered in pleasure.

"For you," Wing smiled, a touch sadly, before he focused on pleasure once more.

Bursts of data and energy assaulted Drift's systems as Wing rode his spike. It had been so very long for both of them, but the memories were fresh and hot from being reviewed so often. They knew how to drive the other over the edge, and right now Drift was content to let Wing take him wherever the flier wanted.

Black fingers tightened around strong white hips as Drift pulled Wing against him for the last few thrusts before he overloaded with a roar and filled the flier's valve with hot transfluid, splashing the electrically charge thin gel against primed sensor nodes and rubbing against them as his frame jerked out of his control.

Above him Wing moaned, trembling and close to the edge. Only the knowledge of what he had to do kept him from joining his lover in bliss. With Drift's processors whited out from pleasure Wing inserted a tiny line of code to give him full access later, when his lover was in recharge.

With his duty done, Wing keened in bliss and fell over the edge, eager to join his lover in temporary oblivion.

* * *

><p>Drift cycled up from the most intense overload he could remember to the warm, crackling frame of his lover, <em>Wing<em>, oblivious to the universe and limp on top of him. The hardline between them still connected, still wide open.

"Crazy mech," Drift murmured, remembering the first time Wing had left himself so vulnerable. A curious probe and Drift realized that whatever else had changed, this Wing had also upgraded his firewalls to a respectable level.

~You have learned,~ Drift chuckled across the hardline as Wing began to come around.

~War does that,~ the sadness in the flier's mind was as intense and honest as any other emotion Drift knew from him. ~It has been a long journey.~

~Exiled?~ Drift asked, that being the most likely reason he could think of.

Wing shook his head, unable to give voice to events in that moment. Instead images were shared. The city in smoldering ruins. His creators gray. Drift torn to pieces, his spark chamber ruptured by a deliberate blaster shot. Scores of mecha he knew and cared about, Knight and civilian, all gray.

On the heals of that was a blast of _need/desire_ that had no words, no images, only a desperate sensation in the form of a plea.

With a snarl that was more transmuted terror than actual rejection Drift shoved hard at Wing, pushing him to the foot of the berth and scrambling the other way, one hand reaching back to grab the Great Sword that wasn't there.

"Drift!" Wing held up his hands and scooted further back. The flashes of memory that has crossed the hardline before Drift's movements pulled the cables out was as familiar as it was disturbing. Megatron and Turmoil, and the designationless mecha from his pre-Decepticon orns of selling his frame to survive were all familiar. The spark interrogation by Optimus Prime was new but less traumatic; Drift had been willing even if he hadn't desired the large mech or the merge.

What had his attention was that this Drift had never known pleasure in a spark merge. This Drift had not been with his Wing long enough to take that leap and understand the bliss touching another's very life force could be. He knew it as nothing other than an act of humiliation and control.

"Drift, it's not like that," Wing insisted, careful in his tone and movements slow. He knew he could take the other mech, armed or unarmed, but he didn't want to use force against the mech he was trying to court. "I didn't mean it like that," he tried to sooth the badly rattled warrior. Old memories came to the fore, knowledge of how Drift would respond when spooked and feeling threatened when they first met.

"Right," Drift growled, willing to be still since Wing was. He _wanted_ to trust Wing. Wanted to trust him so badly it ached. His hand slid down to his side when he realized he had no weapons to grab.

"I was with my Drift a very long time, nearly half my functioning when he was deactivated," Wing forced the words out through the pain. He hid his gratitude when comprehension flickered across Drift's features and the mech relaxed slightly. "It was more than half a century before he trusted me enough to merge sparks. I don't expect you to be there yet."

Drift grunted acceptance and finally relaxed the rest of the way. It hadn't been a demand, it hadn't even been conscious ... it was believable as a reflexive desire. Especially coming from Wing.

Wing ... Drift rolled the full designation around his processors and shuddered in desire at the notation of 'Drift' as 'bondmate'. He had wanted that so badly. _Did_ want that so badly. Not just the honorific incorporated into his own designation, a thing he did without Wing's permission when he'd introduced himself to the universe at large, but for _real_. To have a living, passionate mecha included in his designation. To have the nod of importance, of being _valued_, returned.

"May I show you?" Wing asked softly, offering his dataport. "What can be."

For a long moment Drift could only stare at the offer, his long life where independence and distrust had kept him among the functioning at war with a spark and desires screaming that a short life would be _worth_ having Wing. Eventually he took the cable and offered his own, the line of code that spoke of how much less surviving had mattered after Wing was deactivated winning.

As long as he never learned that this Wing was a traitor to the Knights, he would take a short remaining function if that was what they intended for him. It would be worth it to hold Wing again, to have the fantasy come true.

The gentle touch of familiar but changed processors against his own, seeking, asking, but not demanding entrance was everything Drift remembered. Firewalls dropped, though only the outer half of them. Survival demanded he protect the code and files that made him _Drift_.

He could feel the surprise ... gratitude ... finally awed respect in Wing at what he did give and cautiously brushed against Wing's processors. The warmth was familiar. The hedonistic nature a comforting arousal that drew a moan from Drift. He forgot everything he intended to find out at the touch of white hands on his chassis.

Reaching out in turn, Drift pulled his lover against him, their lips crushing against each other. Without thinking, past thinking, Drift pulled Wing forward as he rolled to his back and spread his legs.

~Want,~ was a semi-coherent thought, one Drift couldn't put words to and didn't need to. Wing felt it through the hardline. A desire that always made him tremble. Even after nearly a millennia with his Drift, it was a rare treat to be _offered_.

With a trembling moan Wing bushed against Drift's processors with agreement, with a promise of how good it would feel. As badly as he wanted to simply sink into the offered valve and the intense pleasure of it, he deepened the kiss first to give his fingers time to stroke the rim and collect a bit of the lubricant there, testing for readiness.

Under him Drift tensed and moaned, retreating and pressing into the intimate contact in equal measure, a sure indication of how uneasy he was with the act but also permission to continue.

Wing responded with memories of how good a spike sliding in and out of a valve could be, how focused Wing was on Drift's pleasure in this and in all things. He smiled and moved to kiss along Drift's throat cabling as the white mech relaxed.

"Wing," Drift moaned the designation of the mecha long extinguished as his optics shut off and his helm fell back, willingly submitting himself to the fantasy in full. He didn't see the smile on the mecha above him; he could only feel the slowly building pleasure as his hips rocked into the light touch, seeking more stimulation.

With a shiver at the open willingness of the mecha under him, Wing bit back a comment that even his Drift would grumble about. Satisfied with the responses he was getting and the amount of lubricant seeping from Drift's valve, Wing slid closer, purring low in his throat, nipping at the white mech's neck and jawline.

Drift's vents hitched and his helm tipped further back, offering the vulnerable lines more prominently as he moaned and his field reached out to share the pleasure and need he was feeling.

"Drift," Wing breathed, making the designation itself a caress, venting warm air over the white mech's throat cables. He slid his finger carefully deeper into Drift's valve, stroking the sides and any sensor nodes he encountered. The responses the action drew were most gratifying, as was the resulting rush of lubricant.

It wasn't long before Drift's hips were rocking into the touch, pressing Wing's finger in deeper as the white mecha moaned.

The jet let out a chirr, smiling against the grounder's neck, gently nipping at an energon line. A second digit slid in, mismatched optics fixing on Drift's face to catch his reaction.

Pleasure, bliss, _want_ dominated with a moan and shiver. Drift's optics remained off, his mouth slightly open as he surrendered himself completely to the sensations.

Wing mingled his field with Drift's, slowly removing his fingers from the white mech's valve. His own spike cover slid opened, his spike immediately emerging. Shifting his hips, the white jet nudged the tip against the rim of Drift's valve, purring again.

A sharp flare of _want_ hit Drift's field at the promised pleasure, even if the white frame did little to encourage more unless you knew Drift well enough to realize a lack of rejection was the strongest encouragement he could give.

Slowly, Wing slid his spike into Drift's valve, his wings fluttering slightly against his back. Shifting his hips to change the angle, he rubbed his spike against the sensor nodes, leaning down to nip along Drift's jawline, nuzzling against the white mech's cheek armor.

With a moan Drift's black hands suddenly reached up to grip Wing, pulling him down and into a desperate kiss while his hands moved to find Wing's wing joints. His hips rocked into the thrusts while his valve tightened and rippled around the first invader it had felt in a very long time.

Wing returned the kiss with equal fervor, echoing the moan as strong hands found his sensitive wings. They flared open, inviting the touches, touches he had to admit he had missed since losing his Drift. Shifting position ever so slightly, the white jet fell into a rhythm, thrusting into the welcoming valve.

A sensor deep inside was rubbed and Drift broke their kiss with a gasp as his entire frame jerked from the intensity of the pleasure that slammed into him.

"Wing..." he nearly keened, trembling as his legs came up to lock around Wing's, trapping the jet and forcing the angle of the thrusts to rub against the same spot more often.

Wing's field wrapped around Drift's, echoing the white grounder's pleasure. Mismatched optics flared brightly as Wing vented heavily, struggling to cool his systems. Heat was ever-building as he picked up the pace, moving faster, harder.

The strong back hands in his wing-joints flexed, digging in as Drift lost control of his frame with an early shock of energy of his building overload. It was the end of any effort Drift made to think. All he wanted was to _feel_.

"Love you," Drift whispered, trembling as the pleasure-charge reached critical levels.

Only a few more thrusts and he'd fall over the edge.

"Love you, Drift," the white jet responded, leaning down to seize the other mech's lips in a deep kiss. His wings trembled at the touches, leaning into the black hands stroking over them.

Wing thrust into Drift, as deep as he could, feeling his own overload rapidly bearing down on him.

A low keen into their kiss was the only warning Drift gave before his frame tightened, all the pleasure washing through him focused on his valve and the intense sensation of being full without pain.

The only thought, if you could call it such, in Drift's mind before he off-lined was that he was finally _home_.

Wing's back arched as he keened his overload, the charge crackling through his body, arcing over his flared wings. His hips jerked as his transfluid spilled into Drift's valve. A moment later, he collapsed, spent, over the white mech, venting heavily and feeling more content than he could remember in a very long time.

* * *

><p>Wing twitched as he onlined, stirring slightly. Feeling Drift deep in recharge, the white jet settled himself, reaching through the still-connected hardline and activated the code he'd slid in earlier. Carefully, to avoid catching Drift's attention, he began leafing through the white grounder's processor, going through his memories. In particular he was looking for the history of... wherever it was they'd ended up, where Drift was still alive. And Wing particularly wanted to know how <em>his<em> Great Sword had ended up with the white mech and not Challenger of Ways.

Recent memories, even old ones, were of wondering as he was now, with Too Pure For This World on his back. Some with the Autobot brand, most without, almost always alone. Lovers now and then. Perceptor, tormented much as Drift was; one who _understood_. Blurr, arrogant, delicate, taken because it was offered and Drift could never have watched, much less touched before. Both were long ago.

Wing froze as he came to Drift's current long-term berthmate. Mirage. A noble. What made the jet notice was that he had an EM shield, loved to use it, and Drift had absolutely no doubts Mirage had followed him and was in the room even now, watching, listening, recording ... and waiting for an opportunity to report to his real master.

Wing would know of there was someone else in the room with them. Wouldn't he? He glanced around warily, mismatched optics checking carefully for any stray shadows, any signs of an uninvited guest. After a long moment, he returned his attention to sifting through his lover's memories, reaching back farther.

He had to dig into an old section, as old as his first memories of Drift, to finally find himself, though those memories, all six vorns of them, were tagged as 'critical' and 'high priority', something typically reserved for skill files needed for survival.

His intakes hitched when he witnessed the last memory, one buried, nearly deleted but kept by a subconscious unwilling to let it go.

The local Wing's deactivation at the spear point of a creature he had never seen before. That it was part of a suicide mission by a dozen Knights to protect the city's secrets by dieing to make the invaders believe there was nothing else.

Instead, only one mech extinguished that orn and Drift was presented with that mech's Great Sword by a very functional Dai Atlas.

This time, Wing froze for an entirely different reason. He went through those memories carefully, seeing both Dai Atlas and Axe in them and seeing no signs that either of the pair had gone offline at all. Drift had left that unnamed world with the city intact behind him, glittering in the light of the twin suns.

Shocked, Wing stayed almost perfectly still, his wings fluttering against his back. His creators were _alive_. His home was _intact_. New Crystal City had not been destroyed here.

They could go home. _He_ could go home.

He didn't even think of it, but he found the coordinates of the world and pinged them to Talon at the helm with the orders to set course _immediately_.

The action led to a barrage of confused questions, and some furious demands as to why they weren't kicking the "Knight wannabe" (Marwir's words) off the ship first. Wing was too distracted by what he'd just found out to give much of a coherent answer. What the rest of his cadre got was more along the lines of "home... they're alive... going home..."

That only led to more questions, but Wing would need something to poke him back into reality before one of the others came in to see just what was going on and get a coherent answer out of him.

He received it in the form of the warning ping from Drift's systems that the warrior was powering up in a hurry.

Wing returned to his senses with a start. As quickly and quietly as he could, he retreated from Drift's processor, settling back and trying to get his wings to stop quivering. Still reeling from learning that his creators were _alive_, he was desperate to see for himself.

"Open up, Wing!" Marwir and her pounding on the door gave him an excuse of sorts for his agitated state, though not his euphoria, when the grounder finished booting.

Groaning at the pounding on the door, Wing let his head drop, forehelm meeting Drift's armor with a clang. "What is it, Marwir?" he finally called back, clinging more firmly to the probably confused white body under him.

"That the _Pit_ is going on in there?" she snarled back. "What is that glitch doing to you?"

"She _really_ hates me, doesn't she?" Drift actually sounded somewhat amused as pale blue optics lit and took in the jet on top of him.

"She's never liked you," Wing admitted, shifting to make himself more comfortable draped over Drift's body, but making absolutely no move to get off. His wings fluttered again. "She blames you for changing me." Odd-colored optics turned back to the door. "He's not doing anything dangerous or harmful."

"You were talking nonsense a moment ago," she banged on the door. "Open up and explain or I'll open it for you!"

Mismatched optics narrowed, and Wing muttered something to himself. He did _not_ want to get up, but he knew from long experience that Marwir was persistent.

"Make her hack in," Drift smirked up and ran his hands along Wing's back. "No need to make it easier on her." He dropped his voice to a seductive whisper. "Why not give her something to rage about when she does get in?"

Wing regarded Drift for a long moment, a shiver running through his body at the sound of that whisper. "I like the way you think," he purred in response.

"What _don't_ they do with you?" Drift's hands found wing joints and teased the wires within.

"I'm certain we can think of something." Wing's back arched, his wings flaring open, quivering from bases to tips at the stimulation. His hands ran across Drift's white armor, instinctively seeking out the spots he knew were sensitive.

"I'm sure," Drift actually laughed, a sweet sound uncompromised by a lifetime of grief and suppression. He pulled Wing in for a kiss and rocked his hips up, both their frames eager for the stimulation.

The white jet purred into the kiss, shifting his hips to grind into Drift's. Mischief glinted in his optics.

"I heard that!" Marwir's roar was a mixture of frustration and outrage.

"She'll hear a lot more soon," Drift grinned before groaning and offering his throat to his lover.

"That she will," Wing agreed, swooping down to nip and kiss at the exposed cables. Shifting to straddle Drift's hips, he pressed against the white armor, making no secret of what it was he wanted.

With a low moan Drift gave it to him, his spike cover sliding open and the spike pressurizing quickly in anticipation of anything Wing had in mind.

Wing didn't miss a beat before shifting his hips, settling onto Drift's spike, letting out a long, low moan as it slid into his valve. His body quivered over Drift's, fingers hooking into armor seams.

A questioning thrust, pale blue optics on Wing's mismatched set as the door slid open.

"Oh for Primus' sake!" Marwir snapped as she took in what they were up to. ::Explain the gibberish already and I'll leave you to enjoy your pet,:: she demanded of Wing on a private channel.

Wing didn't even look back at the femme, pressing down into Drift's thrust to take the spike as deep as he could, shivering with delight as it scraped past the sensor nodes.

::Going _home_,:: was all he told Marwir. Putting the emphasis on 'home'.

::Why should we follow _his_ directions half way across the blasted universe?:: she glared daggers at the pair and the way Drift was completely ignoring her. ::How do you know it still exists?::

Gold-and-green optics finally turned in Marwir's direction, flashing her an annoyed look. ::New Crystal City still exists _here_. My creators are sill alive _here_. We've been wandering so long, and now, somehow, we have a chance to go _home_.::

That said, he returned his attention to Drift, pressing himself down in time with Drift's thrusts into him, leaning down to seize the white mech's lips in a kiss.

She hesitated, knowing that was more than enough reason for the trek. ::What about the rest of us?:: She asked. :: Do we exist there?::

::We'll see when we get there,:: was the distracted response. ::And deal with it if you do.:: It was clear that Marwir was losing his attention; Drift was too great a distraction, as was what Drift was currently doing.

She muttered under her breath and turned to leave before speaking up for Drift to hear. "Just don't let you _pet_ distract you from the important things."

Wing growled absently, glaring over his shoulder nacelle at Marwir as she left. Drift was NOT his pet. Then all his attention went back to his lover and the delicious sensations rippling between their frames.

This was going to be the most pleasant travel time ever for him.


	5. Coming Home

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Drift/Wing, Axe/Dai Atlas  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaoen/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

* * *

><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 05: Coming Home<strong>

* * *

><p>Wing stood on the bridge of the ship, looking at the main screen as the tan-and-orange planet grew from a speck to a disk in the distance. He was doing his best to keep his wings from trembling with anticipation and nervousness, keeping them tightly tucked against his back. This was the planet where Drift's memories said New Crystal City resided.<p>

The white jet glanced at the mech standing beside him. Drift had been spitting mad when he found out that Wing had gotten into his processor, but had eventually understood the white jet's reasons for doing so. It had taken Drift a while to calm down. Fortunately the nine and a half metacycle journey had given them plenty of time for that, and other catching up.

Drift had also called Mirage out, or tried to, to make sure the Autobot was off the ship before they were an orn out. When no one appeared when he was alone and the carefully watched rations never disappeared, Wing and Drift were both content that he'd gotten off the Sparklight before she launched.

The lack of a demand to return to Earth also indicated that.

Marwir had not been happy to see the white grounder with Wing when they finally left Wing's quarters for energon and for Drift to socialize with the cadre and had made her disapproval quite plain. She had been even more vocal about Drift getting onto the bridge as they approached this planet. Drift had pointed out that in this universe - and it was a different universe than the one the Knights had hunted Decepticons in for much of their travels - Wing had been deactivated and most of the cadre did have dimensional doubles living in the city, Dai Atlas and the others might refuse them landing permission. It had taken a sharp order from Wing to keep Marwir from jumping on Drift at that.

And now they were almost within hailing distance of the no longer hidden city and everyone was quivering with excitement. No matter how different it may be, this was _home_.

"Frequency 8953.903 and include this designation," Drift transmitted the designation glyph he'd had when he left New Crystal City so long ago.

Wing nodded, looking over to the communications console. This was the moment of truth, or at least the first one.

His spark couldn't decide between stopping and bursting when Axe's deep rumble responded with a welcome.

Wing quickly told the Knight at the comm console to patch the signal directly to Drift; he didn't know if he could keep himself from responding to that familiar, sorely missed voice. His wings were trembling, trying to flare out in excitement.

"Bridge is muted," Silk responded, still broadcasting the incoming signal so everyone could hear.

"Hi Axe," Drift replied. "I said I needed to work out who I was and where I belonged. It's time I came home."

Wing trembled all over as Axe responded, giving them landing permission and an approach vector, as well as welcoming the white grounder back to the city. It had been so long since Wing had last heard that voice, his creator's voice.

"Take us in," the white jet whispered.

"And Axe, just so I don't get punched again, there are eight others on board," Drift hesitated briefly. "It's a _long_ story."

"All right," the giant triple changer said cautiously. "You vouch for them?"

Drift cast a sideways glance at Wing.

The white jet's eagerness to be back in his home city and to see his creators again was evident on his face, no matter how he tried to hide it. His bicolored optics met Drift's briefly, then he glanced at the rest of his cadre before nodding at the white mech.

With a deep intake of air, knowing full well just what he was committing himself to, especially with Marwir, Drift nodded. "I do. I vouch for all of them."

"Then welcome to New Crystal City," Axe said before the connection was closed.

Wing gave Marwir a long look, then turned back to Drift. "Home... After so long..." His wings flared partially open as he watched the planet grow larger on the main screen, a blinking icon marking the location of the city.

"Yes," Drift murmured as he slid closer and wrapped his arms around Wing, snuggling against the white jet's back. "It's been a very long time."

Wing leaned back into Drift, chirring softly. "Getting used to it again will be awkward... We haven't had a home for so long and we've been through so much..." He tilted his head to give Drift an amused look. "I think we're in almost the same condition you were when you first arrived on this planet."

Drift snorted before tipping his helm forward for a kiss Wing. "Almost. We _want_ to be here. I didn't, that time."

"Not used to big groups anymore." Wing hummed into the kiss, ignoring the deliberately loud sound of disgust from Marwir and the clang of Talon cuffing her upside the helm.

"You'll do fine," Drift reassured him, lifting his hands to caress the jet's half folded wings. "_We'll_ do fine."

"Still going to be awkward," the jet murmured, shivering at the touches on his wings. The panels fluttered under Drift's hands. He looked at the main screen just as they got close enough for the city to actually be visible, albeit as a bright speck on the landscape at this distance.

A low hum, then Drift cocked his helm slightly. "Who are your creators, anyway? Since I'm probably going to meet them this time."

The entire bridge went still in shocked silence. Even Marwir was too stunned to react.

Wing half-turned, blinking at the other white mech. "You've already met them..." It was no secret; everyone in New Crystal City knew who Wing's creators were. His Drift had been more than a little edgy around the two mechs in question for a while, understandably, once he'd figured it out. But maybe this Drift hadn't been in the city long enough to find out.

"Knights?" he half guessed, since those were the only New Crystal City mechs he'd actually met.

"You were just talking to one of them," Wing added, watching as Drift's optics flared in shock and he jerked back on pure reflex.

"Axe..." Drift didn't even try to hide his shock even as his processors correlated that to Axe joining them, _leading_ them, in the suicide mission. "And the other?" he asked quietly, not sure he actually wanted to know.

Feeling his long-buried streak of mischief kicking in for the first time in centuries, Wing smirked at Drift. "Take a guess. You've met him, too."

Drift scowled. "You're enjoying this entirely too much," he grumbled without any real malice. "Anyone _here_?" he shot a look at Marwir, wondering if that was her issue before realizing that Wing said his other creator was a mech, not a femme.

Wing shook his head, his smirk widening. "No one here." His mismatched optics gleamed as he decided to give a few more hints. "He didn't like you at first... Gave you a few spectacular dents, too. Took a while to get the blue paint transfer off..."

"No." Drift growled. "No. You are not going to tell me _he's_ your creator. What kind of creator lets his mate and creation go to die while he hides?"

Wing paused. "This is not my universe; I can't say what Dai Atlas was thinking."

"Someone had to lead the Circle and city," Silk spoke, even and firm but quiet. "It is a Knight's right to choose to fight. It would be a great dishonor for all for Dai Atlas to try and stop either of them."

Drift glared at her, but Wing could feel it in his field that Drift understood. He might not like it, but he _understood_.

Wing nodded at Silk. "Axe and this universe's Wing chose their path ... Dai Atlas could not stop them. Most likely he tried to talk them out of it in private, but he could not change their minds."

With a low grumble of his engine Drift settled and focused on the view screen where New Crystal City's towers could now be made out.

The comm system beeped with an incoming hail that Silk patched through.

"Sparklight, this is Knight Star Song of New Crystal City. Myself, Knight Dyestrip and Knight Zypher are here to escort you to landing bay one," a rich male voice said.

"Adjust vector accordingly," Wing murmured to Talon, a shiver running through him at the familiar voice. First making sure that the incoming Knights couldn't hear him; he didn't want them to drop out of the sky from pure shock.

"Acknowledged, Knight Star Song," Drift responded, watching as the three distinctive jets, one Praxian like Talon and two of the distinctively elegant style that was all New Crystal City.

The bridge fell silent except for the periodic navigation comms until they set down. Every mech on board the Sparklight saw those gathered to greet them, a full two-thirds of the Knights, including Dai Atlas.

"Let me go out first and explain what I can," Drift told them. "Given most of you are standing out there."

Wing nodded, his bi-colored gaze fixed on the screen. He was staring directly at the familiar form of Dai Atlas, blue armor gleaming and wings wide and pristine, trying not to think about the last time he'd seen that frame, graying in the sand. A familiar black form came into view, and the white jet actually had to suppress a whine. He trailed Drift to the airlock, but stayed well out of sight with his cadre as Drift stepped out to be greeted.

With a deep cycling of air through his vents, Drift stepped off the Sparklight to greet the mechs he never expected to see again, and now knew were the creators of his mate. How weird a thought _that_ was.

"Welcome back," Dai Atlas's deep voice greeted. The blue Knight's face was as impassive as ever, but there was a welcoming tone in his voice. Next to him, Axe smiled at the smaller white mech, inclining his head in greeting.

"It is ... good ... to return," Drift said, still uncomfortable with the idea, and even more with the fresh knowledge he had of this pair that could beat him into a pulp without even trying. "I said my shipmates story was complicated. Seven are Knights," he kept his voice low. "The eighth is a microbot partnered to one of them."

"Knights?" The interest of both was clearly piqued.

Dai Atlas frowned slightly. "This is going to be a complicated and long tale, I suspect." He glanced toward the ship, his red optics probing the shadows just inside the airlock.

Just barely out of sight, Wing quivered, reaching around himself to grasp his wingtips, trying to keep them from extending and giving him away.

"It is, but the important points," Drift cycled another deep intake of air. "They're not from this universe, so you know them all, but you don't. It's been an ... odd trip."

Axe took a step forward. "Not from this universe?" The big black mech gave the ship a searching glance, blue optics narrowing slightly. "What do you mean, we know them but we don't?"

"I mean you know the designations and frames, they have some history in common, but they aren't the same mechs you have standing here," Drift tried to explain. "In their universe, they are all that is left after New Crystal City was raised. They've been wondering a long time, ill-socialized by their own assessment."

Two pairs of optics flared at that. In another universe their city had been razed to the ground, leaving a group of Knights homeless.

Dai Atlas's long wings twitched ever so slightly. "Who are they?"

"Tetris, Talon, Silk, Flashfire, Kimark, Marwir and ... Wing," Drift answered, motioning them to come out.

Both of the big mechs froze, two pairs of optics fixing on Drift, staring at him in utter shock. A moment later both pairs of optics fixed on the entrance to the ship.

Wing shivered, then slowly stepped out, looking at the two. They stared at him in disbelief. Two sets of optics took in his mismatched optics and the obvious bits of mismatched armor, the Great Sword on his back, and the signs of old battle wounds.

"It can't be..." Dai Atlas whispered, trembling ever so slightly. He had never really gotten over his youngest creation's death, despite how long ago it had happened. This was just a bit too much for his processor to wrap around.

Red optics flickered several times, then went dark, and the blue mech keeled over. The impact of armor on ground almost startled Axe out of his own armor, resulting in an awkward sideways hop. The black mech blinked down at the blue heap for a moment.

Drift couldn't help the smirk as he looked down at Dai Atlas, then over his shoulder at Wing. "I think he's happy to see you."

Wing walked over to stand beside Drift, the others following him out of the ship. He watched as Axe extended one leg, poking at blue armor for a moment. The other Knights just stared at their leader for a long moment before noticing the group emerging from the shuttle. Shocked exclamations echoed through the landing bay.

"That was... not what I was expecting," the white jet replied, immediately drawing Axe's attention from poking the out cold Dai Atlas back to him.

"You must admit, seeing you functioning is quite a shock," Axe told him before gathering his wits and a huge smile. "It is _good_ to see you, even if you are not technically _my_ creation."

Wing walked over to the black mech, tilting his head to look into those familiar blue optics. "It's not only a shock to you..." he murmured in response. His hands twitched as a sudden, inexplicable urge rose in Wing, the urge to press himself against that black armor and _feel_ the life and warmth there.

Arms opened in response.

Wing lost no time in responding to the offer, throwing himself forward and latching onto the triple changer's frame. His fingers hooked into Axe's armor, clutching desperately at his creator, burying his face against the black chestplate. It was warm against his white, warm and gleaming like obsidian, and Wing forcefully thrust away the lurking memory of that armor gray and shattered by weaponsfire.

"Are you home to stay?" Axe asked softly, the hope unmistakable, taking in the resonance, the differences and similarities to his own memories and deciding that this Wing was very close to the creation he had lost.

"We've been wandering so long, alone, nowhere to go," he murmured in response. "But now, we're _home_."

"Good," Axe whispered, his voice and frame shaking minutely in relief. "We have missed you greatly."

"Missed you, too, so much," was the faint reply. Wing didn't want to let go; this felt so _good_. He could sense that the rest of his cadre was staring at him, cautiously easing forward.

A low groan from the ground nearby made him look in time to see his other creator begin to cycle up. A flash out of the corner of his optic marked Drift getting on Wing's far side from Dai Atlas.

"He couldn't even talk about creating again after you," Axe murmured. "We've only gained two new Knights, both from the civilians not a spark called forward by the Great Swords."

"We have so much to catch up on," Wing murmured, looking at Drift, then back at his cadre, his look warning Marwir to behave, before he turned his attention to the slowly stirring pile of blue metal in the Dai Atlas-shaped dent.

Axe offered a hand to his mate without letting Wing go. "Fine way to greet our creation after so long," he chuckled.

Dai Atlas's helm came up so quickly his processor spun briefly. Shaking his helm to clear it, he took Axe's hand, allowing the triple changer to pull him to his feet. Red optics rested briefly on Drift, then moved to the gold and green optics watching him from within Axe's embrace.

"Wing," the blue mech breathed, reaching out to carefully touch a white audial flare, as if Wing was a hologram or a mirage that would vanish if touched.

Wing pressed into the touch, chirring and trembling at the contact he never thought he'd feel again. Dai Atlas may never have been the most affectionate or demonstrative of creators, but Wing never doubted how much he was loved. Not even when he was having a screaming match with the elder mecha.

Drift edged closer, wanting to be with Wing even as he wanted to remain out of Dai Atlas' reach.

Dai Atlas's wings trembled again, rattling softly against his back armor. One cautious fingertip became a warm white palm, smoothing down the audial flare to gently cup Wing's cheek, thumb ghosting gently over the edge of the green optic.

A moment later, the leader of the Knights turned to look at Drift, not taking his hand from his creation's cheek. Red optics regarded the wary white mech for a long moment before Dai Atlas spoke.

"You have brought my creation back to me, and for that I thank you," the big mech told the white softly. He tilted his head ever so slightly. "This will be an interesting tale you have to tell us."

That said, he took a step closer to his mate and creation, wrapping his own arms around both, leaning against Wing's back as Wing melted into the duel embrace and trilled his joy.

"It is," Drift murmured, not even aware of the sappy smile he was wearing at seeing Wing so happy.

The whistle of a vocalizer politely requested their attention to the Knight's chief medic. "While this is endearing, I do want Wing and Drift in my bay. They both clearly need repairs, and some of their cadre are getting edgy."

Dai Atlas reluctantly peeled himself away from his mate and creation, nodding slightly. Wing took a moment to shake loose from the pleasant tide of joy, blinking at the medic until the words registered.

Axe held on a moment longer before letting go, reaching over to swat Dai Atlas's shoulder. "You'd better go, too... Make sure you didn't damage anything important when you keeled over." Blue optics sparkled with mischief at the glare he got in response.

Wing snickered, a fresh wash of joy at hearing his creators banter like the long time friends they were. Without looking he reached out and wrapped Drift in a tight embrace and fierce kiss. "Thank you, love."

"Anything for you," Drift whispered back with a shiver at the purity of the emotions rolling off Wing before they parted to follow the medic. "It will be nice to see you with all matching parts."

"And with any other damage properly repaired." Dai Atlas looked Wing over, optics flitting over the signs of old scars, before Axe planted one palm against the blue mech's back and pushed. The blue mech huffed something at the black, who only smirked at him, then went after the medic, shortening his long stride to stay close to Wing. An amused Axe brought up the rear.

"Marwir did her best," Wing defended the closest thing they had to a medic. "It's not really her training."

The two larger Knights listened to the pair talking, content with hearing their creation's voice. Then Axe turned to something he'd noticed, but had largely forgotten in the face of seeing Wing alive again.

"Wing..." He rolled the designation around on his glossa, taking in the new glyphs and changes the designation bore. An optic rim lifted. "Bondmate, hmm?"

Dai Atlas actually missed a step, grabbing a black arm to catch himself.

"Where I came from, for more than half my functioning when ... when he was killed," Wing responded, leaning into Drift's touch. "Here ... I think we will be, in time."

The Knight leader's optic rim twitched. He turned his head to look at Drift critically, which clearly unnerved the white mech.

Axe reached around and caught hold of the gold crest on the side of Dai Atlas's helm, making the other mech yelp in surprise. "Drift's a good mech. He helped save our city from the slavers, he brought Wing back to us, and the Great Sword accepted him as a bearer. Lay off the mech."

"Do we _really_ have to go through this again?" Wing sighed, almost a growl of frustration. "I'm a mature mech, an adult by law and a full Knight. I was when I bonded the first time. You can't stop me any more than you can stop me from fighting by a friend's side."

Drift remained studiously silent through it all, a back corner of his processor wondering when he'd come to be wary of Dai Atlas and when he'd become so ... quiet.

Dai Atlas went very quiet for a long moment at that. That was too close to what Wing had said to him before that disastrous battle against the slavers.

Axe's hand released the crest, landing on his mate's shoulder. "He's right. And he's older than the one we lost. Let him make his own decisions. And back off the 'overprotective creator' program. It'll only drive him away."

"I don't intent to take him away from you," Drift offered quietly. "But I'm not going to give him up for anything."

Dai Atlas was quiet for a moment longer, then gave Axe a look. "All right, all right, I yield. You are right."

Axe smiled at the blue mech, then turned to Drift. "Not asking you to. And I'll make sure that Dai here behaves himself."

"Good luck," Drift cracked a grin at the giant black mech. "I understand he's as stubborn as his creation."

"Worse," the medic spoke up. "Far worse. Wing still listens to sense when he feels like it."

Dai Atlas looked offended at that, his wings flaring slightly, only to hit the wall on one side and drop back down into "hold" position. Axe laughed.

"I have my own ways of dealing with him," the black mech replied, giving the white mech a slightly wicked grin. "He's learned not too push me too far, or there will be... consequences."

Wing giggled and grinned at his creators as his slender wings fluttered in unsurpassable happiness. Even Drift joined in the mirth at the leader's expense.

"I can imagine," Drift chuckled.

Dai Atlas muttered something under his breath, managing to look very put-upon. If he had a response to that, he kept it to himself as they entered the medbay and were promptly assaulted by a flurry of pings and scans to check on them from Wing's cadre.

Only Marwir was on a berth at the moment, powered down in medical stasis. At her side the local Marwir was hovering, assisting the med-tech so she wouldn't be sent away. Silk was off to one side of the room, talking with the other Silk, while Tetris was showing off Klinge to his counterpart.

"I am fine!" Wing gave his cadre an exasperated look. "Did you think they were going to eat me?"

"Steal you," Kimark chuckled from where he was leaning against a nearby wall. "Those two look even more possessive than usual."

Both Dai Atlas and Axe eyed him for a moment, then looked briefly at each other before turning their attention to Wing and Drift.

"Perhaps you should tell us your story, while we are here." Dai Atlas moved to sit down, only to get unceremoniously shoved into the nearest med berth by his mate, who then leaned against his shoulders to make sure he stayed there.

Wing nodded and settled in to tell his story even as he watched the care his cadre was receiving with an optic that wasn't nearly as trusting as it once was.

"From what I've gathered much our histories match until shortly before the battle that your Wing extinguished in. That battle never happened. The slavers did not arrive for many more vorns, long after my Drift had been formally accepted for Knight training, though not before we bonded. No one arrived looking for Deadlock. The city never came to the surface.

"More than a millennia after I bonded, the Decepticons found us. Those Knights you see here were on a mission with me on the far side of the world. We couldn't get back in time. The only reason we know it was Decepticons was because Drift manage to tell me before he was killed," Wing stilled, then shuddered in memory of the broken bond, what it felt like to have that tie to another snapped.

The two older mechs listened in silence. Dai Atlas was gripping the edge of the berth hard enough to dent it, Axe absently kneading blue armor to keep from doing the same. They watched Drift wrap his arms around the white jet, holding him tightly.

Axe shifted, his CPU connecting the dots between the destruction of the city and why Wing had been so eager for an embrace; the white jet had seen Axe and Dai Atlas's shattered frames as well as Drift's. The black mech detached himself from his own mate, walking over to catch both the white mechs in an embrace, much to Drift's surprise.

"What did you do after the city fell?" Dai Atlas finally managed to ask. "How did you come to be here?"

"We found every Great Sword, both those a Knight carried and those in the vault, then scavenged a ship with Marwir's help," Wing relaxed into the duel contact, drawing strength from it to continue the story. "We found a single survivor. Even though Klinge's not a Knight, we couldn't leave her on a dead world among the bodies."

"We did what we could to honor the fallen," Silk spoke up when Wing's vocalizer failed again. "So many ... not even Kimark had seen so many dead."

"Former Kaon gladiator," the heavily armored grounder explained. "Death I knew. Mass slaughter was new."

"Then we traveled the stars," Wing picked up the narrative again. "For a long time we sought those who needed protection and helped them."

"Eventually it became a Decepticon hunt more than anything," Tetris added. "We knew that anywhere we found them, we'd find those being abused."

"That's why you all have so much damage, why you act so differently from the Knights of this universe," Axe mused, still holding the two white mechs. He could feel the tension from Drift against his chestplate. "After so long, I am not surprised you're ill-socialized. Reintegrating will be... difficult."

"That and a lack of a real medic," Tetris nodded. "Marwir did her best, but she was never trained."

"We tried to maintain the ways of the Light," Silk added, shame permeating her voice and manner. "None of us are senior Knights. None of us are masters. We didn't know enough."

"Silk, they know," Wing soothed her without leaving Axe's embrace, mismatched optics meeting her blue-green visor until she settled. "Thank you," he rested his forehelm on Axe's chest. "We all wish to return to the Circle, to be what it was intended of a Knight."

"We do not hold it against you," Dai Atlas spoke up, leaning forward. He was pleased and a little relieved when a great deal of tension drained from the room. The newcomers really had been afraid of being rejected, turned away from the home they had lost so long ago. "After so long, even an elder master, even myself, would have slipped. You are all welcome here. You are Knights, and New Crystal City is your home."

Axe made a purring rumble, freeing one hand to stroke Wing's helm. After a moment, he did the same to Drift. "Calm down; I won't bite you," he told the tense white grounder.

"Still getting used to the idea ... and that you're his creators," Drift said quietly. "I doubt I'm much better socialized than when I first arrived."

"We weren't exactly helping matters when you first arrived," the big black mech pointed out calmly. "Things will be different this time. As Dai said before you left, you are one of us now. And, if you're going to be our creation's mate... again... then you're part of our family, as well."

Drift nodded and leaned into the touch as he leaned against Wing. His filed evened out, then cautiously extended in an offer-question of alliance. It was as close to the concept of family as Drift really had, and even this was an uneasy concept, but he was _trying_.

Axe reached his field out in return and wrapped Drift in a blanket of acceptance that white grounder barely knew what do to with.

It was cute in a sad way to the elder Knight.


	6. Evening with the Leadership

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Axe/Dai Atlas, Drift/Wing  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 mech/mech  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Sticky, Spark  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

* * *

><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 06: Evening with the Leadership<strong>

* * *

><p>Dai Atlas was not even sure how he managed to get back to the rooms he shared with Axe without walking into a wall or tripping over his own feet, though he greatly suspected that his mate had something to do with it. His processor was whirling, struggling to sort out everything that had happened.<p>

At first, it had been like any other day in New Crystal City. While the city had risen to the surface, no longer hidden, practically no one knew of them, so there had had very, very little traffic through the area. The city had been undisturbed. The only real changes had been that the fliers could now stretch their wings when they felt like flying and the sand that got _everywhere_. The occasionally punishing storms that howled through the canyons and over the mountains would cause them to retreat underground for a time, but that was the only time the city was not visible.

Then perimeter sensors that had been deployed after Drift had left had detected a ship approaching. Not just passing through the city's space, but heading right for it. No one had expected it to be Drift, returning from his long journey of self-discovery. And no one had in their wildest dreams expected who he was bringing back with him.

Wing was back. But not their Wing. This one had come from another dimension, a universe where the city had been razed, where Drift had been a full Knight and Wing's bondmate, where Wing and his small group were the only survivors of a brutal Decepticon attack. Somehow, not even they were sure how, they had crossed into this dimension, and the Great Swords had drawn them to Drift like magnets.

The Knight leader wasn't sure what to think. He was overjoyed to see Wing again, that was beyond any doubt. The other members of the cadre he accepted; they were Knights, and Knights did not abandon their own. Even if they were from another universe.

"You're thinking too much," Axe's voice was teasing as he guided Dai Atlas to their private and spacious washracks.

"Can't help it," the blue mech replied, startled out of his thoughts. "So much has happened..."

"So many good things," he hugged the larger triple changer from behind and kissed a wing-joint. "Our youngest is back. For all the changes, it _is_ Wing."

Dai Atlas shivered slightly, leaning into the embrace. His folded wings gave a flutter, a flutter only Axe could get out of him. Slowly, he relaxed. "It will still take some getting used to... After carrying the pain of his loss for so long... I'm still trying to get my processor around it. Part of me is insisting that in the morning he'll have vanished, like a hologram."

"Not if Drift has anything to do with it," Axe murmured, running his hands down the leading edges of Dai Atlas' wings before reaching to turn the solvent spray on. "Mech took his deactivation as hard as either of us."

"True." Dai Atlas had been watching from the command center when Wing had been struck down, had seen Drift's expression, had seen him bring down Wing's killer. "Drift is going to stick to Wing like metalnits to armor adhesive." Another shiver ran through him as his wings were stroked, and the blue mech leaned into the touch with a purr. His shoulders seemed to drop as he finally started to really relax.

"Now, just how much distracting do you need to _rest_ tonight?" Axe purred in reply, excited by the tingle in his mate's field and the gradually growing warmth between them and continued to stroke Dai Atlas' wings. "I want you sane and stable when we begin the formalities in the morning."

The blue Knight's field curled out to mingle with his mate's, revealing just how frazzled Dai Atlas was, as well as the desire rising from under it. "I'll probably need a lot of distracting," was the purred reply as red-trimmed wings stretched into Axe's hands. One white hand crept around to lightly stroke under the edge of the black mech's hip scabbard.

"Good," Axe rumbled, pressing into the contact as his touch became firmer on wings growing slick with solvent. "I need to be worn out tonight."

"That makes two of us." Dai Atlas's voice had dropped into a deep purr he only used with Axe, and ONLY in private. His fingers flirted along the scabbard, teasing the connection point where it joined to his mate's hip until the smaller triple-changer's engine gave a hard rev. His long wings spread out to their fullest span, presenting every inch of their surfaces for Axe's touch, as well as the normally-hidden span of the blue mech's back.

Behind him the black mecha shivered, enchanted as always by the hidden expanse where Dai Atlas' Great Sword, Strength of Conviction, rested. His frame already trembling, Axe leaned forward to kiss the glowing white jewel in the weapon's guard before his hands swept along the full length of his lover's wings and down his back from shoulders to hips.

"I love you, you know," Axe murmured between kisses along the edge of the Great Sword's channel.

The Great Sword's jewel pulsed warmly into the kiss, a pulse echoed by Axe's own Sword, Sentry of Balance. Dai Atlas braced his free hand against the wall as his knee struts threatened to give way on him, letting out a low, deep moan. His wings shivered from bases to tips, leaning back into Axe's hands as much as they could.

The blue mech turned his head to look over his shoulder, his red optics glowing softly, watching his mate. His own love for the black mech swept through their entwined fields, stroking over ebony armor, saying so much more than words.

"And I love you," Dai Atlas breathed softly, his voice dropping into a warm purr as Axe pressed against his back, rubbing their chassis together as strong black hands wondered up to stroke Dai Atlas' chest.

The blue triple changer leaned into the contact, his engines purring. One hand was still exploring the underside of Axe's hip scabbard and the sleek plane of his thigh, while the other reached back over his shoulder to gently catch and caress the golden crest adorning his mate's helm. Shifting his hips, Dai Atlas very deliberately leaned his pelvic frame into Axe's, his red optics gleaming over his shoulder into bright blue.

"Pushy, pushy," Axe teased even as his fingers slid down to rub light circles on the larger mech's valve cover. His spike cover slid open and he groaned in anticipation as his spike pressurized.

"You like it when I'm pushy this way," Dai Atlas purred back, capturing one of Axe's hands and nipping at his fingers. His valve cover opened, allowing his lover to slip a digit inside. Anticipation made ruby optics glow even brighter.

"Guilty," he moaned as much at the nibbling as the sensation of a hot, slick, welcoming valve tightening around his finger. "Just as you love it when I pin you and ravish you into incoherency."

Just the thought of it made Dai Atlas shiver all over with anticipation, fanning out his long wings and slipping the very tip of Axe's index finger into his mouth. He made a deep, throaty sound, pushing back onto the black mech's finger. The blue Knight's EM field wrapped around Axe's, communicating just how eager he was for some of the previously mentioned pinning and ravishing.

Axe's powerful engine revved hard as he pulled his finger out of his mate's valve and shifted to press Dai Atlas' chest against the washrack wall before driving his spike fully inside with a single powerful thrust. "Mine," he growled against Dai Atlas' neck and began the thrust, hard, fast and unrelenting.

Dai Atlas' back arched at the vibrations, his free hand clutching at the wall, tilting his head as much as the gold crest on the side of his helm would allow (once again he managed to dredge up a thread of annoyance at the crest, which kept him from turning his head to watch his mate). The blue mech let out a deep grunt at the penetration, pressing back into it to take Axe's spike as deeply as he could.

"Yours, always," Dai Atlas managed to gasp out, rocking his hips into each thrust, his optics flickering as he leaned his head forward, exposing the back of his neck to the black mech's lip plates and denta.

Fingers scraped against Dai Atlas' spike cover as Axe grunted and moaned against his back.

The bigger mech rolled his head to one side slightly, shutting off his optics, his engines revving. His own moans merged with his mate's as he shifted ever so slightly, changing the angle the tiniest amount. His spike cover almost popped open at the touch, his spike pressurizing into the black hand.

They both lost themselves in the primal violence of pure bliss; Dai Atlas submitting completely to his mate and Axe taking advantage of every way he knew to drag deeper moans and revs from him.

Here they were not the leader and sub-commander of the Circle of Light and New Crystal City. Here they could be two mechs who had become friends, then lovers, then bonded mates after knowing each other for millennia. Here in the privacy of their quarters they felt safe enough to drop their masks, their duties, their _function_ and exist only to answer the call of their sparks to the other.

Here no one could hear that Axe roared his overload first, or know that the great Dai Atlas' greatest pleasure was to submit and be taken care of, to be _touched_.

The blue triple changer's back arched, his chestplate scraping against the washracks wall as he bellowed his own overload, his valve tightening around his lover's spike. His engines revved as high as they would go, warm air gusting from his turbines. Red-trimmed wings arched up higher than anyone would expect them to go, vibrating from tips to bases. His field was completely entwined with Axe's, shared pleasure reverberating between them.

Before the charge could even stop crackling over their frames Axe turned his mate around and kissed him, hard and demanding, while he grabbed one knee and pulled it up against his hip to drive his spike fully into the still-pulsing valve and began to thrust again.

The larger mech braced his back against the wall, ignoring the slipperiness of the cleanser still falling over them, returning the kiss, reaching up to explore the obsidian mech's shoulders, hands gliding around to his back. He curled his leg around Axe's hips, balancing on one foot, his own hips rolling into every thrust as the pleasure-charge began to build again.

When Axe's frame began to tremble with growing need he growled against Dai Atlas' throat. "Spark."

The blue mech leaned his head back, exposing his throat to his lover's nips and kisses. A deep rumble rose from his vocalizer as blue chestplates shifted aside, light flaring within the larger mech's chest. Dai Atlas' spark gleamed, pulsing, reaching out for its mate. Threads of energy brushed over ebony chestplates as if coaxing them to open.

It was more than enough. Axe shuddered with a groan of raw need as he opened his chest plates and brought his spark chamber forward. The first touch of their coronas drew sharp keens from both mecha.

~Love you,~ Axe's mind cried out over the growing spark connection, everything in his very life force backing the statement up. ~Want you so much.~

White fingertips hooked into Axe's back armor, stroking along the edges of the black Knight's treads, pulling his beloved closer. Dai Atlas lowered his head, pressing nipping kisses to Axe's crest and helm while threads of energy from his spark intertwined with threads from Axe's, drawing the two orbs of light and energy closer.

~Love you so much,~ Dai Atlas responded, pouring his own love and devotion along the bond. ~Take me. I'm yours.~

~Always,~ Axe said in promise to cherish the gift.

Their frames were nearly forgotten as the spark-pleasure rolled through them, memories and emotions shared without reservation in this safest and most sacred of places.

Blue arms tightened around the powerful black frame, pulling him as close as he could. The back of Dai Atlas' helm hit the wall, mouth opening in a silent cry, red optics flaring once before shutting off. For a long moment he actually forgot he had a heavy metal shell, completely caught up in this sharing of self with his mate. The building pleasure washed back and forth between them, building with each new echo, their sparks like two suns caught in a perpetual dance, the light shining off sleek armor, coruscating in droplets of cleanser.

When the overload finally crashed over them, Dai Atlas threw back his head as much as he could, wall and crest permitting, and _howled_ out his release.

The rush of Axe's overload right on the heals of his own was a gift he cherished every time, even when he wasn't consciously aware of it. The roar, the heat, the pleasure, the sense of _wholeness_ that could not exist while in their frames flooded both mechs, soothing so much that they could barely put words to.

Awareness found them crumpled on the floor in a heap, their armor once more closed but their sparks pulsing warm and comforted with the renewed connection.

Axe reached up and shakily turned off the solvent spray.

Dai Atlas turned his head to watch, his armor actually steaming as the heat from under it turned the cleanser to vapor. His wings were twitching from the overload, bits of current still snapping briefly around the vanes on his wingtips. His engines were purring softly, more felt than heard, making tiny beads of liquid dance across blue plating. His ruby gaze was still more than a little fuzzy, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to get up without assistance. Apparently his knee struts had gone AWOL sometime between the overload and coming back online.

With a smile that was shaky from his own overloads, Axe smiled and turned to kiss him softly as he guided them both to lay more normally, their limbs still tangled as they recovered.

"Needed that," Axe murmured as he tucked his helm under his lover's chin and purred happily. "We both needed that."

The larger mech hummed his agreement, wrapping an arm around Axe. "It certainly helps calm a frazzled processor," he replied, referring to his own state of mind when they'd entered their quarters. Still purring, he nuzzled Axe's crest before settling, his optics dimming in contentment.

* * *

><p>Six mecha packed into an entry room made the relatively large space of the suite claimed by Talon and Flashfire seem small, but being so close that everyone felt everyone else's fields made the tightly knit and on edge cadre feel much better. That Marwir was still in medical stasis for CPU and memory core repairs had them all on edge, even after Dai Atlas' assurances. It was strange to be home, but not have it be <em>home<em>.

At least not yet.

Good quality, strong mid grade was passed around, savored for the rare treat it was for them. They knew it was their standard fuel now, at least for all the fliers, but for now it was to be savored, too many memories of surviving for hundreds of vorns on weak solar energon were solid in all their processors and wasn't about to be forgotten.

Kimark would be issued a less potent mid grade as his standard fuel as a grounder Knight, but for now he was on medical orders to drink the higher grade until his reserves were full and all his systems repaired.

The medic had been horrified at their state, though he complemented Marwir's ability to keep them all functioning as well as she did.

Now Silk was curled into a tight ball in Kimark's lap and against his chest while Talon and Flashfire rested their shoulders together, wing gently stroking wing, while Tetris' rotors rubbed Talon's other wing.

The murmurs contained few words but did serve to settle the cadre as they waited for their leader and his mate ... the mecha that had brought them home. The mecha that had likely saved Wing's sanity.

The door slid open, revealing the red and white form of Wing, all his armor now matched and gleaming. His optics were both golden, and he could see properly for the first time in a very long time. His arms were burdened with vari-colored cubes and small ornamental boxes, some large and some small; high-grade energon and the sweet-tasting sweets and treats made in the city. Behind him came Drift, the white grounder similarly burdened.

Wing walked over to join the rest of his cadre, extending his field to mesh with theirs. Depositing the pile of cubes he'd been carrying in the middle of the group, he found a place to sit, leaving plenty of room for Drift to sit next to him.

"Gifts from the local Knights," he explained, indicating the small heap that Drift added to before snuggling against Wing's side with a cube of high grade for himself. "Welcoming us home."

"Strange to think that these are little gifts," Silk murmured as she picked up a lovely box of four decoratively crafted energon confections. "It's been so long."

"That is very nice of them," Talon agreed, his wings along, elegant wings twitching in anticipation of the confections he selected.

"I can barely remember the last time I've even seen any of these sweets." Wing waited for the others to make their choices before picking out some for himself. He hummed with pleasure as he tasted one, savoring it. Stealing a sip from Drift's cube of high grade, he grinned at his mate's protest, pressing a kiss to the heavy nasal of Drift's helm before looking back to the others, taking note of their repairs. The quick and easy stuff - mostly cosmetic - was visibly finished. They all _looked_ good, even if their fields told of the deeper repairs still to be done to a mecha that knew them well.

"This is the only place I've been where they are really available anymore," Drift murmured. "Even in Iacon they're so expensive they might as well not exist."

Silk let out an unadulterated groan of bliss as she licked a small confection from Kimark's fingers, his optics on her bright and a little confused, but content to take in this new and very affectionate side of combat jet.

Wing watched with a smile. "Here we can afford to relax, at least a bit," he murmured. "We don't have to be so on guard all of the time. Though it's going to take all of us time to learn to relax fully. Even me."

"You'll manage," Drift purred against his audial, already half way through his first cube of high grade. "Strong energon will help."

Flashfire snickered at the sight, though it was a pleasant sound of approval. "It does," he held up his cube of Seeker high grade in a toast to getting thoroughly and pleasantly overcharged for the first time in a very, very long time. Nearly his entire functioning had been spent on the Sparklight; he'd only just come of probation and accepted as a full Knight when the city fell.

Wing snorted, stealing his mate's cube and taking a drink, smiling at the squawk he got in response. There was a brief wrestling match over the cube before Drift settled back, the high grade once again in his possession. The white jet picked up another small box of sweets, eating one himself before offering one to his mate. "Let's see how true that is," he purred, tilting his helm to touch his audial flare to a sharply-pointed white finial.

Drift licked it almost delicately from white fingers, wrapping his glossa around one while maintaining an optic lock with Wing before withdrawing. "You are under orders not to fly before you're repaired," he teased the jet. "That means no overcharged for you."

Wing stuck out his lower lip plate in a pout, getting a snicker from at least one of the others. His tendency to fly when he was drunk had been well-known in their city. Whatever he'd been about to say died in his vocalizer as he watched Drift.

"Do you know of another way to get me to relax?" he replied, tilting his head teasingly.

"I'm sure I can manage," Drift purred and leaned forward to claim Wing's mouth in a kiss. His glossa snuck out to lick Wing's lip plates.

Wing purred into the kiss and opened his mouth to the questing glossa, tasting the sweetness of the shared confection. Eagerly he deepened the kiss, chirring happily as Drift wrapped his arms around him and revved his engine.

With Marwir absent, no one said anything. Some watched, others began to caress their own lovers with sensual intent.

Wing had either forgotten they were being watched, or else he was so used to the other members of his cadre that he no longer cared about having an audience. It wasn't as if he hadn't interfaced with each of them at some point or another. His nacelles revved in response, vibrating against Drift, the white jet's arms coming up to wrap around Drift's body. Nimble fingers began creeping toward all the sensitive seams along the white grounder's sides and back and was rewarded by a heavy rev of Drift's powerful engine that vibrated them both.

In retaliation Drift's fingers found Wing's wing joints and dug into them, rubbing against sensitive wires and sensors that directed the most important part of the flier's frame.

Wing moaned into the kiss, digging his fingers into an armor seam to caress the circuits lurking underneath. His wings slowly began to flare out, offering more sensor-packed surfaces to touch and stroke. One hand crept up to trace along the edge of one of Drift's audial finials, stroking from where it broke away from the smooth curve of his helm up to the tip.

With a groan Drift broke their kiss to move down to Wing's throat while his hands took the blatant offer to stroke and caress the unfolding wings.

Wing's back arched at the stimulation, extending his wings out all the way. Tilting his head, he began nipping and licking at the other audial finial, his glossa tracing the edge from forehelm to pointed tip. One hand trailed down Drift's side to his thigh while the other slid into a particularly sensitive armor seam.

A sharp intake of air greeted the touches and the increasing boldness of them. Drift shivered and pressed into the touches, relishing them as he had every touch in the past none and a half metacycles. He kept his focus enough to continue stroking the wings under his palms until they were quivering uncontrollably.

The quivering spread to Wing's body, bringing out a gasp and a moan of pure need. Wing's nacelles were revving, blowing warm air and the tang of jet engine over Drift's plating. Nipping at Drift's spaulder, Wing wriggled against him, panting. Beyond them other sounds of pleasure were growing, various pairings taking the opening to enjoy each other, though Tetris had set Klinge to guard before loosing himself in Talon and Flashfire's touches.

It was Wing that held Drift's focus though. He held the white jet close, focusing on those wings despite the intense arousal of his own systems. He wanted Wing to overload from this, and wanted it first, before he pushed the white jet to his back.

One long, smooth stroke of black fingers over white wings did Wing in. He clung to Drift, keening his overload, current crackling and snapping along his outstretched wings. For a long moment he slumped against the white grounder, venting heavily to try and cool his systems, before one hand slid down Drift's side and over his thigh to press suggestively against Drift's interface panel.

Drift hummed, a deep rumble of his engine marking his own intense arousal as the panel slid open. His spike pressurized quickly as he lightly pressed Wing backwards.

The white jet offered no resistance as he let himself be pushed onto his back, curling his fingers around Drift's spike and stroking slowly along its length. Gold optics met blue as their EM fields entwined, heavy with lust and raw need. Mouths met in a desperate kiss as one of Drift's hands found Wing's valve cover and scraped against it, begging for admittance.

The white jet let out a soft whine, his valve cover eagerly snapping open. He raked the fingers of his other hand lightly down Drift's back, dipping into seams to caress the circuitry underneath.

"Yes," Drift moaned into another kiss and pressed his hips down, promising pleasure as soon as Wing's hand was out of the way.

Teasing fingers gave one last long stroke up the length of Drift's spike, one brushing over the very tip before pulling away. Wing squirmed slightly, getting into a better position, pulling Drift closer as Drift sank into him, both mecha savoring the sensations of tight, slick heat and being filled.

Wing moaned again, hooking one leg over Drift's hip, fingers stroking up the white grounder's sides, over his arms, hooking into his spaulders. The jet dipped his head, mouth on the cables of Drift's throat, nipping and kissing his way from Drift's collar to his jaw.

Low and powerful, Drift's response was as visceral as it was powerful. His hips pistoned into Wing's, driving his spike deep and rubbing the sensors along the entire length.

Flared white wings fluttered. Wing buried his face against Drift's throat, nipping and licking, letting out soft moans in time with Drift's thrusts. White fingers dipped into every seam that was handy, reaching in to stroke circuits and cables and wires, instinctively seeing out the most sensitive places.

"Close," Drift moaned and shuddered, his charge already high from Wing's first overload and the continued touching.

The white jet's golden optics brightened. Nipping along Drift's jawline, he slid one hand up the broad expanse of Drift's back to fondle the finials on his helm, knowing how sensitive they were.

A low, desperate sound came from Drift before his hips drove forward with their full strength and his back arched. A grunt escaped him with the second hard thrust, then a roar as his overload crested and pumped hot transfluid into his lover with the third.

Wing keened, digging his fingers into Drift's back armor, Drift's overload triggering his own. The charge danced across the planes of his armor, leaping from his body to Drift's to extend and heighten both their pleasure.

All around them mecha moaned and moved with pleasure, heightening the euphoria of their overload and the gradual calming after it.

"Feeling relaxed now?" Drift purred against Wing's throat when he found the processor power to reboot his vocalizer and use it.

"Very," was the soft response, Wing's golden optics glowing softly as his mate. He was still sprawled on his back, more lounging than anything else, wings half-spread, completely disinclined to move. Turning his head, he grinned as he saw the other members of the cadre. "And not just me, either."

"Not a bad thing," Drift chuckled, no more inclined to move than his mate. "What kind of pit are your creators going to put me through for you?" He asked far more seriously.

"Shouldn't be too bad," Wing replied after a moment. "At least, I shouldn't think so. Axe likes you, and he already said he'd keep Dai Atlas from getting too out of hand. Though you will be getting some dark looks and the occasional withering scowl. Just ignore them. They will watch, more Dai than Axe. Beyond that..." He shrugged. "Where we came from... They watched him the whole time he was training. Dai Atlas was... pushy. I finally told him to slag off. You should have seen his expression."

Drift chuckled. "I think I have. Similar to the one he had when you told him he was no better than a Con when he wanted to kick me out after you saved me that first time. I really would have thought he would be used to you saying 'no' by then."

Wing grinned. "Sometimes he gets too carried away with the rules and his position as leader of the Circle. Someone has to kick him back to reality. And it had been so long since our last major disagreement that he mistakenly thought I had come around. And it was fairly rare for me to say it to him when we had an audience. Still, his expression was hilarious."

"Mmm, I bet," Drift purred into a languid kiss. "Hopefully this time it'll go a bit easier. I'm really not keen on having to challenge him. Mech can kick my aft."

"Dai Atlas can kick everybody's aft," Wing replied. "Only Axe comes close in skill. He'll keep Dai under control, even if he has to knock him flat and sit on him." The white jet chuckled. "I've seen him do just that when Dai Atlas was being particularly hard-headed."

A bark of laughter jerked Drift's frame. "I would _pay_ to see that."

Wing's grin widened. "It's a sight to see... Could hear him bellowing at Axe to get off from two floors down. Axe didn't budge until Dai finally gave in on whatever it was they'd been arguing about. I can show you, if you'd like." Golden optics gleamed. There was only a momentary hesitation before Drift slid a dataport open and uncoiled a cable for Wing.

Wing already had the memory file cued up when he connected the hardline. He could not suppress his grin as he showed Drift how he'd walked into Dai Atlas and Axe's quarters to investigate the bellowing, only to find Dai Atlas flat on the floor, wings splayed partially open, managing to look like a two-year-old throwing a temper tantrum, with the black mech parked right in the middle of his back, not budging. Axe had been smirking, while Dai Atlas had looked ready to chew up battle armor and spit out rivets.

Drift's entire frame vibrated before he burst out laughing so hard his vocalizer shorted out, but that didn't stop the mirth. ~That is a _priceless_ memory.~ he managed to gasp out on the hardline, his own extreme lack of such memories a thick undercurrent.

Wing laughed with him, hard enough to get curious looks from the others. ~He couldn't look me in the optic for the rest of the orn, and I teased him about it for a long time.~ He tilted his head, feeling the undercurrent, before his voice dropped to a purr. ~We'll just have to make some memories, then, won't we?~

Drift hummed softly, liking the idea even if he wasn't sure he could ever have such a functioning.

Wing craned his neck, resting his forehelm against Drift's, lightly kneading the back of the white grounder's neck. ~You will,~ he whispered softly.


	7. Ways of Knighthood

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Axe/Dai Atlas, Drift/Wing  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 mech/mech  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Sticky, Spark  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

* * *

><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 07: Ways of Knighthood<strong>

* * *

><p>"You know he'll have to be trained," Axe smiled at his mate as they lay sprawled on their giant berth, limbs entwined and frames still cooling from overload.<p>

The blue mech stirred, red optics powering up. He tilted his head at his mate. "Drift? Yes, he will." An optic rim lifted at his mate's smile. "You have something in mind?"

"Well, if he's going to be courting our creation, he'll need to be trained by the best," blue optics glittered with amusement. "That does mean us."

Dai Atlas considered that for a moment, before a slow smile appeared on his features. "You have a point there," he agreed. "And it will give us plenty of opportunity to make sure of his intentions. As well as making sure he's good enough for Wing."

"Something like that," Axe smirked. "His expression will be priceless. Give _him_ a processor meltdown this time."

Dai Atlas's smile became a wicked grin. "It's only fair, after the shock he gave us." He shifted position, extending one wing to lightly cover his mate.

"All good shocks," Axe chuckled as he reached to stroke the extended wing. "But I am going to enjoy springing this one on them."

The grin on the blue mech's face went from "wicked" to "cheerfully evil", not a look anyone expected to see on the leader of the Knights. "That makes two of us."

It sent a shiver down Axe's frame and a deep rumble in his engine. "It's been too long since you looked like that," he purred, curling his fingers around the leading edge of the wing over him.

"Been too long since I had a reason to look like this," was the response, Dai Atlas's own engines purring at the touch on his wing. White fingers slid across black armor, flirting along the seams.

"Maybe I should arrange for it next time," Axe arched into the touch, moaning shamelessly as his field went submissive and white hot with desire.

The bigger mech's only response was a low, throaty laugh as he ran his hands over his mate's body, finding all of the sensitive places he'd discovered over the millennia. White fingers dipped into seams and stroked over sensitive plating while Dai Atlas leaned forward to capture Axe's lips in a fierce kiss. His field meshed with the black mech's, echoing Axe's desire.

It was rare when Axe was in the mood to submit so completely, nearly as rare as Dai Atlas' mood to dominate in their berth, but they were always times that left both wondering why they didn't indulge more often.

Axe's fingers moved slowly and carefully, stroking his mate's wide, long, strong wings with a tenderness he rarely displayed.

Dai Atlas purred, spreading his wings for the attention, kissing his mate deeply before slowly shifting his attentions to the exposed throat. His hands moved over ebony armor, knowing exactly where and how to touch to drive the other triple changer wild. As much as he loved it when his mate didn't asked, didn't hold back, there were times when it was a blissful change to have tenderness and submission from his mate.

Under him Axe moaned and pressed into the touches, absolutely willing to submit and comply with anything Dai Atlas wanted of him.

Dai Atlas pressed his chestplate against Axe's, his powerful engines vibrating through their bodies while the bigger mech sucked lightly on a control cable under the black mech's jaw. Shifting, Dai Atlas slid one knee between Axe's thighs, just brushing his mate's interface hatch.

The valve cover slid open immediately as Axe spread his knees and moaned at the attention. It was all he could do to continue to stroke Dai Atlas' wings as he rocked his hips into the contact, silently pleading for more, to be filled and taken completely.

"Eager, aren't you," the blue mech crooned, sliding one hand down Axe's chassis to stroke one fingertip along the very rim of Axe's valve. Red optics sparkled as they met bright blue, Dai Atlas leaning down for a deep, passionate kiss.

"Always for you," Axe groaned, grinding his hips into the contact as his arms came up to wrap around his mate's neck, holding him into the kiss as Axe's chestplates unlocked, but didn't part. Not yet.

Dai Atlas's spike cover slid back, allowing his spike to slide out, fully pressurized. He continued to circle the rim of Axe's valve, the very tip of his finger dipping inside, driving the black mech absolutely wild. "How eager are you?" the blue triple changer purred, leaning down and curling his spine slightly to lick along the seams of Axe's chestplates.

"Please," Axe nearly whined, his valve rim already slick as he rocked into the finger, wanting so much more. "Want you. Love you."

Knowing that if he went too far with his teasing, his mate would get him for it later, Dai Atlas very slowly withdrew his finger, making a show of licking the lubricant off as Axe watched. Sidling forward, he leaned down to kiss the black mech, allowing his mate to taste himself in Dai Atlas' mouth as the larger mech slid his spike into the welcoming valve.

They both trembled at the slow slide that lit up sensors for them both that weren't stimulated often, especially for Axe. Black hands found large wings and rubbed them, encouraging and trying to share the pleasure even more than interlaced fields could offer.

The blue frame over Axe shuddered at the touches, hitching his wings up higher, bringing the tips and the vanes on them into easy reach. Dai Atlas's vents were pushing warm air over obsidian plating as he leaned down to apply lips and glossa to the seams of his mate's chest armor. His hips continued their smooth motion until he was completely sheathed, his pelvic plating pressed against Axe's.

"Ohhh, Dai," he moaned, trembling as even the deepest sensors tingled, the stretch of a spike on the large side even for him enough to force his processors to stop thinking of anything but the pleasure in his frame and the movement of his hands as they found the vanes on his mate's wings and fondled them, stroking them in time to the pace he wanted that spike to set.

Long wings tilted even farther forward and down, into Axe's hands. Dai Atlas' response was a chuffing laugh as he shifted his hips, not thrusting in but shifting his spike in his lover's valve, stroking it over another set of sensor nodes. Finally starting to thrust into his mate, the blue Knight started slow, teasing, slowly picking up the pace each time Axe was ready to keen in frustration.

In retaliation Axe squeezed and rubbed the vanes harder with his hands, while his valve did the same with the spike inside him. His hips rocked up into each thrust, bringing a little more force to each.

Dai Atlas's engines roared. Panting, all vents open to try and cool his systems, he finally increased his pace to his mate's preference, hard and fast, bracing himself with one hand while the other slid into a particularly sensitive seam. It felt so good, too good, to have Axe writhing and keening helplessly under him. It felt impossibly good to have hands that knew him so well on his vanes and the tight valve around his spike, squeezing and rippling whether he moved or not.

It was his mate's field and voice that were the hardest to resist, however. When Axe submitted, he did so without reservation, asking only to be pleasured, to be taken, filled and flooded until they couldn't move.

Red optics gazed into blue, Dai Atlas intently watching every move his lover made, every moan and cry. His own chestplates loosened, sliding away to expose the light of his spark, glowing like a small sun in its casing. Leaning down, Dai Atlas nipped along the central seams of Axe's chestplates, coaxing them to open for him. It didn't take any real effort. They were already unlocked and merely awaiting Dai Atlas' pleasure.

With a shuddering moan of anticipation Axe brought his spark chamber forward and spiraled it open the moment his chest plates were clear. His field roared with need-desire-plea for this.

For a moment Dai Atlas could only look, staring right into the very core of his beloved. Then he leaned forward, bringing his spark into contact with Axe's. Light exploded between them, gleaming on blue and black armor, sparkling in ruby and sapphire optics.

Axe's helm snapped back with a keening roar, not in overload, but still of pleasure so intense it could not be silenced. His frame trembling uncontrollably his spark reached out to welcome and embrace its mate with pleasure, memories and all the devotion and love he felt for the larger mech.

Two sparks met and merged, entwining until it would be difficult if not impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Dai Atlas's back arched as he let out a keen of his own, shudders running through his body, though his hips never faltered in their driving rhythm.

Emotions, memories, hopes, fears, joys and sorrows flowed easily from one to the other. Even as their frames reached for the bliss of overload, they became less and less noticeable to the mecha as their sparks joined in the first pleasure known to their kind.

Dai Atlas reached overload first, throwing back his helm and letting out a deep, almost feral roar as transfluid poured into Axe's valve. Light flared from their entwined sparks as the charge crackled over the blue mech's plating, along the lengths of his wings and into the black mech's body.

It was more than enough to drive Axe over the edge as well and he welcomed the plunge into bliss-induced oblivion with his mate.

* * *

><p>Dai Atlas and Axe stood side-by-side in front of the assembled Knights of the Circle of Light, having just formally introduced the cadre to the others and accepting them into the Circle. The other Knights had all greeted them, making places for them, accepting them as their brothers- and sisters-in-arms.<p>

The blue mech tilted his helm toward his mate, letting the tiniest of grins sneak onto his face. Catching it, Axe echoed it briefly, then schooled his features back into a mask of neutrality as much as he could.

"Drift," Dai Atlas called, pitching his voice with almost ritual cadence. "Come forward."

The white mech jerked slightly in surprise, but complied with all the poise and acceptance of fate as a full Knight.

Level red optics fixed on Drift's blue. "You have stated that this time you are staying, and as a bearer of a Great Sword, it is imperative that you complete your training as a Knight." He paused to let that sink in for a moment. "You will be training under Axe and myself, until such time that we judge your training complete."

Behind them, they could hear Wing's frame jerk in shock, the small sound of protest he made, but their attention was firmly locked on the open shock, mixed with disbelief and a shadow of fear, that radiated from Drift's frame.

"What?" the rattled mech gasped.

"We will personally see to your training until you are ready to become a full-fledged Knight," Axe replied, somehow managing to keep a straight face despite the hilarious expression on the white mech's face.

"But that is _my_ duty!" Wing broke rank and moved forward, ready as always to challenge for what he wanted, what he believed in.

Dai Atlas tilted his head. "He is also courting you," he pointed out. "Training and courting at the same time is more than a little awkward. Not to mention distracting. In this case, Drift will be trained by the best of the Circle."

Wind had no counter for that. He couldn't contest that Drift's training wouldn't be better for the change, even if he didn't want to surrender the connection.

The exchange did give Drift enough time to regroup, at least enough to get through the orn. "I accept."

This time Axe let his grin show. "I won't let Dai go overboard with you. At least, not too far overboard. And I won't let him bite."

"Even when I do?" Drift felt some of his natural cockiness come back. "I eventually beat everyone I train against."

Dai Atlas gave him the same cheerfully evil grin he'd given Axe the previous night. "That might take a while."

Drift snorted. "Good look on you, really. But you'll never come close to Turmoil or Megatron ... much less Motormaster in the crazy evil department."

Axe snorted. "Maybe I won't try to keep him from going overboard. You're certainly asking for it."

Icy blue optics glowed brightly as they shifted targets, and Axe recognized exactly what was happening. Drift was giving himself over to the bravado that kept him alive, but also in a very calculated effort to be extinguished. A mind completely locked on the truth of what does not kill one, makes one stronger.

Only Drift was willing to take that to an extreme no sane mecha could ... yet he was completely sane.

The two large mechs exchanged glances. Training Drift was going to be one interesting experience. Interesting, intense and probably more damaging than their medic would at all approve of.

Wing darted forward, grabbing Drift by the spaulders and dragging him away from the two bigger mechs. "Not now!" the white jet hissed at him. "They trained me, and as good as I am I am still nowhere near their level. They'd cut you to pieces, and I would be very angry, with them and with you."

The medic and their creation would approve of both amended at the same time.

"I expect you in the main training room at dawn, Drift," Dai Atlas called after the disappearing white forms.

"I'll be there," Drift tried to twist his way free. "Let'm go!"

Axe snorted. "This is going to be interesting."

"That it will be," Dai Atlas smiled. "He'll make a fine Knight when the four of us are done with him."

Wing continued to drag Drift through the city back to their quarters, ignoring his mate's protests. Finally, the jet pinned Drift against a wall, glaring at him.

"What the slag were you _thinking_?" Wing demanded. "You're not on their level; Pit, _I_ am not on their level! Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?"

"Better or dead, either works," he rumbled back, fully into the siege mentality that kept him functioning among the Decepticons, the pit fights and on the streets.

White wings flared out in distress. "You're starting to worry me, Drift! Snap out of it!" He shook the white mech gently. "They won't hurt you; they just have... questionable sense of humor!"

"They intend to break me," Drift countered. "See if I survive it, prove I'm worthy enough for you."

"They won't!" Wing shook him again. "They will train you, and you will become a Knight of the Circle when your training is complete! They won't break you!"

"Then what do they mean by courting?" Drift abruptly changed the topic, only he wasn't to himself. "How else do they plan to make sure I'm good enough for their _creation_."

"You courting me, or me courting you... To be my true mate, my bondmate." Wing was rapidly becoming a nervous wreck. He dragged Drift further into their quarters, his wings fluttering with anxiety. "Stop this, Drift! You're scaring me!"

"What do you _mean_ by it then?" Drift asked, his field muting to raw confusion heavily threaded with distress of his own. "How else do they expect me to prove myself?"

The white jet wrung his hands for a long moment, at a loss as to how to explain it. Finally, he let out a groan of frustration and opened his dataport, offering a hardlink cable.

After a leery look, Drift accepted the cable and offered his own.

Wing connected the cable, then showed Drift just what was meant by 'courting'. And showed him that Axe and Dai Atlas didn't really mean any harm. They were just looking out for their creation the best way they knew how, and intended to help Drift become the mech they knew he could be.

When it was over, Wing looked at Drift, hoping he'd snapped out of the strange mood he'd fallen into.

"Too weird," he grumbled and leaned forward to claim a kiss. "We already share quarters."

"I keep forgetting the cultural differences," the white jet murmured, returning the kiss eagerly, humming into it. "Don't mind them. No matter how old I am, to them I'll always be the sparkling who insisted on trying to climb Dai's leg when he was trying to put on his 'stern Order Master' or getting under Axe's feet all the time."

Despite himself, Drift snickered as he reached for folded wings. "Still, what's the point in courting when we already share a berth? We'll get to more or not, but we all know you'll get what you want in the end," he murmured without any malice as he nuzzled in for another kiss. "You can have it all if you ask."

"As long as you want it, too," Wing replied, returning the kiss, stretching his wings into Drift's hands. His entire body radiated relief that Drift had come out of that strange mood.

It was enough to still Drift, an odd look crossing his features as he regarded his lover. "When have I ... either of us ... ever managed to tell you no?"

"Vanishingly rarely," Wing admitted. He tilted his head at Drift, reaching up to gently touch his cheek, sending a wave of love through the still-connected hardline. Something jumbled came back; submission, confusion, devotion ... though Wing knew enough to recognize that Drift considered it addiction ... a tumble of less pleasant sensations ... and simmering through it all was desire, hot and demanding.

The white jet leaned against Drift, resting his head against Drift's shoulder, purring softly. Waves of comfort and love washed through the connection. This wasn't the first time he'd had to draw his love back from that dark place that Drift had spent most of his existence, and he didn't doubt that it wouldn't be the last.

Patience, strength and affection had worked before, and Wing had an abundance of all three.

An interfacing drive stronger than Drift's helped too. It was a common ground where even this new to being lovers Drift had grasped the concept of mutual pleasure and how good it was.

White wings fluttered, inviting black hands to stroke them. Wing nuzzled against Drift's cheek, golden optics glowing warmly, vents gently blowing warm air across Drift's plating. The jet's nacelles hummed idly, vibrating against Drift's spaulders.

It was quickly enough to rev Drift's engine, adding to the humming vibrations between them and the quickly building arousal in Drift's systems. "You know I'm not going to be the same mecha you bonded with before."

"I know," Wing murmured. "Too Pure For This World has been working on you for quite a long time. You have a different history than my Drift, different experiences. I don't expect you to be like him." Briefly, he wondered what he was going to do with Challenger of Ways, which he still carried as well as his own Sword.

"I'm more like you, you've become more like me," Drift gave a crooked smile and let his hands find Wing's wing joints. "How did your last courting go?" he asked, somehow making the question seductive as he lightly pressed Wing towards the berth.

"And is that a bad thing?" Wing teased, nipping at the white grounder's cheek. He purred happily as his wings were stroked, pressing them into Drift's hands. "It was long," the jet finally replied. "It took my Drift a long time to settle into city life. A long time for him to trust me enough to bond with me."

"I believe it," Drift murmured, capturing Wing's mouth for a kiss. "If his past is much of a match for mine, spark contact wasn't a pleasant thing."

"But it can be," Wing murmured. "It was... incredible." He returned the kiss, nibbling on Drift's lower lip. "Perhaps one day you'll trust me enough to try."

"Trust isn't the issue," Drift moaned softly and pushed Wing against the edge of the berth, using the edge to take the mech to his back. His hands shifted focus to Wing's nacelles while his mouth found Wing's throat to nibble on the cables.

"I would never hurt you." Wing landed on the berth, wrapping his arms around Drift to bring the other mech down with him. The jet ran his fingers down Drift's back, sliding them under one hip sheath to stroke the sensitive underside and connection point. He leaned his head back, exposing his throat to the other white mech.

"I know," Drift murmured, a faint shiver passing along his frame at the touch. He rocked his hips into it, now as always far more focused on his spike for pleasure than anything else.

Wing sent a burst of data along the hardline, an echo of what it felt like to merge sparks with a lover. But he didn't want to push Drift. Wing trusted that Drift would come to him when he was ready.

The jet's fingers stroked along the underside of Drift's hip scabbard, sliding into armor seams on the dark thigh. His other hand was exploring Drift's spaulder, seeking out all the most sensitive places, relying on very old memories of his bonded as much as what the past few metacycles had taught him about this lover.

Drift retaliated with a databurst of his own, flooding Wing's systems with his arousal and the fierce independence that no amount of influence could do more than faintly temper and temporarily submerge.

Wing let out a breathy keen, sliding his fingers into a particularly sensitive seam, brushing his fingertips along a cable underneath. Tilting his head, he nipped at Drift's jaw and lower lip, nacelles humming, vibrating through their bodies.

The powerful grounder engine growled in reply, seeking to overpower the jet engines it had no hope of competing with. Drift claimed a kiss that demanded submission and rocked his hips more firmly against Wing's as his spike cover slid aside.

Wing purred into the kiss, having absolutely no problem with submitting. His valve cover snapped open, valve already dripping with lubricant. Nimble fingers slid along one of Drift's helm finials, one ankle hooking over Drift's hip.

He moaned into the demanding kiss as the thick, wonderfully ridged spike spread him open, lighting up sensors as it pressed deep in a single smooth stroke.

A shudder ran through Wing's body, his back arching and pressing his hips into Drift's, taking the spike as deep as it could go. The white jet wriggled under Drift, wanting more. Drift was more than willing to give and drew his hips back before thrusting forward, keeping the pace just on the easy side of intense; just slow enough not to drive Wing over the edge quickly but hard enough to make him keen and writhe in need for more.

Wing squirmed, rocking his hips back against Drift's, urging him to go faster, harder. A whine escaped his vocalizer while his fingers were after every sensitive point in reach, encouraging the other mech to pick up the pace. _Need_ echoed across the hardline, and that proved to be Drift's undoing.

The white grounder had never been one to deny or delay pleasure. With a growl he shifted his weight to catch Wing's hands and pin them on either side of Wing's helm before driving his spike into the jet with his full strength, the pace picking up quickly.

The white jet let out a deep purr, arching into Drift's body. Slender wings flared out across the berth, twitching slightly. His engines revved higher. Wing leaned his head back, exposing his throat to the attention Drift willingly gave it.

Burningly hot air blew over each of them from the other, the clang of metal on metal, the scent of friction-heated lubricant, the moans that vibrated both air and frame swirled around them, heightening the blazing pleasure that sought to blind them.

Wing's back arched right off the berth. The white jet let out a keening cry as he reached overload, his valve tightening around Drift's spike, the pleasure washing through his field and the hardlink. Steam was curling lazily from his vents, swirling around his body, brushing across Drift's armor. It was the tight, slick side as it began to pulse around his spike that dragged the roar out of Drift as his hips jerked, his spike pumping hot, electrically charged transfluid to fill Wing's valve and heighten the bliss rushing through Wing's systems.

Wing's keen rose to a near-shriek, his back arching again, optics flaring nearly white. His valve rippled around Drift's spike as he pressed up against Drift, fingers clawing at the air as they surrendered to the overload fully.

His frame locking briefly as his overload reached its pinnacle, Drift collapsed on top of his lover the moment the charge abated enough to release him, panting and only slightly coherent.

Wing was barely any more coherent, panting heavily, his frame still shuddering. Half-spread wings slowly folded again, the white jet's leg sliding off Drift's hip as he relaxed into a tensionless mass under his heavier lover.

Gradually they both cooled, both content to not move long after the last pings of pleasure had faded. Drift's fingers let go of Wing's wrists as moved to drawing seemingly random patters over whatever part of Wing's armor they ended up on.

"Who's courting who?" Drift asked, his processors still focused on the thing he didn't have a clue how to aproch.

Golden optics, still unfocused, turned to Drift. "I think, at this point, we're courting each other," Wing replied after a moment. He stretched his arms, idly drawing a circle on Drift's spaulder with one fingertip.

"You're really not helping here," he grumbled, tension trying to build inside him again.

Wing hummed softly. "The point of courting is to prove that you're worthy of me. I already know you are; it's Dai and Axe who are going to need convincing. Power and wealth don't mean anything to a Knight, so what's important is to show skill, virtue, and restraint." He shifted slightly. "They'll be training you, so they'll have plenty of opportunity to judge your skill."

"Judge me in every way they want," Drift couldn't quite hold back the shudder at what 'training' still meant in his processors, even though he was reasonably sure it didn't apply here. "And if I'm not good enough?"

Wing wrapped his arms around Drift, kissing his cheek lightly. "You will be." He rested his forehelm against Drift's. "On the very, very, very, astronomically tiny chance they decide otherwise, to the Pit with them. You're mine."

Something Drift couldn't even name melted deep inside him until there was a snap and a flow of tension escaped him with a tiny sound. A tremor passed through his frame as he relaxed, emotions he couldn't even begin to sort out swirled and tumbled through him before settling into a pleasant background hum.

White arms tightened around Drift's frame, hugging him tightly. Wing pressed his lips against the nasal of Drift's helm, purring softly.

Drift tipped his helm to claim those lips in a kiss, the relief, the wonder at being so valuable, still flowing through him unchecked. If he wasn't so desperate for it to be true, if it wasn't Wing saying it, the corner of his processor that always warned against becoming attached, that no one looked out for anyone but themselves, might have actually been listened to.

As it stood, Drift was willing to ignore even evidence that Wing was lying to hold onto the illusion of being _wanted_ a little longer.


	8. Training

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Axe/Dai Atlas, Drift/Wing  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 mech/mech  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Sticky  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

* * *

><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 08: Training<strong>

* * *

><p>As the twin suns of the planet peeked over the horizon, spreading warm light over New Crystal City, as well as an interesting pattern of shadows, Wing led Drift through the city to the main training facility of the Knights Citadel. Neither were entirely happy about the early hour, but Drift had promised Dai Atlas, and he had to honor that promise.<p>

Despite the early hour, the Citadel was buzzing. Some mechs actually enjoyed being up with the suns, though others thought they were entirely too cheerful. Cheerful teasing and grumbling echoed through the corridors.

Dai Atlas and Axe were both in the training arena. The Knight leader was in the process of warming up, his swords flashing with lightning speed and amazing precision. The watchers could almost see the invisible opponent he dueled against, almost see said imaginary opponent go down before those flashing blades. Red Optics were narrowed slightly, all the blue mech's attention on what he was doing.

Axe was leaning against the wall, looking like he'd fallen into recharge standing up. The black mech had never been one for early mornings. Clearly he was the night owl to Dai Atlas's early bird. Axe didn't even react as Wing and Drift entered, so maybe he _was_ recharging on his feet. Wouldn't be the first time.

Wing couldn't help but snicker at the sight. The differing preferred joors for recharge were useful when they had to cover something ... like a too-energetic sparkling ... at all joors, but when they both needed to be up, it always left one in less than a pleased state.

Drift cast a curious look at the black Knight before his full focus was on Dai Atlas, taking in exactly what a master level Knight was capable of. Every move Dai Atlas made was smooth and powerful. He had been doing this for a very long time, and it showed. Watching him, it was easy to see why he was the best in the Circle.

"Axe has never liked mornings," Wing told Drift softly. "Let him wake up on his own and you'll be fine; disturb him and he can get pretty cranky. This I know from experience."

"Noted," Drift murmured, his optics locked on who would be his primary opponent for the foreseeable future.

It wasn't something he was looking forward to.

Dai Atlas finally finished his warm-up, holding his stance for a moment before relaxing. Red optics turned to Drift as the bigger mech returned his swords to their sheaths, then the blue Knight stepped off the training floor.

"You may start your own warm-ups," Dai Atlas told Drift, leaning against the wall near Axe, but not close enough to disturb the black mech. Even he was wary of his mate's temper this early in the morning.

"Why not let him recharge in his berth?" Drift asked as he stepped into the circle and took a moment to center himself. This wasn't a time for showing off as he normally did for an audience. This was a time to run through the katas he knew as though no one was watching him.

Just like when Wing trained him, only without the warm hands on his frame.

"He came here on his own," the blue Knight replied, crossing his arms over his chestplate. He watched critically as the white mech warmed up, judging Drift's level of skill and deciding where to start the training.

As expected, his katas were piecemeal after the first few Wing had taught him. He'd improved greatly since that battle, since he had gone out on his own and began to learn from his Great Sword. A formidable opponent freestyle, yet from a formal training standpoint Drift's technique was a mess.

Just when Dai Atlas was considering calling to Drift to stop, the warm-up left true katas and the mecha relaxed completely into his movements as a battle began in his mind to guide his movements. Pale blue optics were lit up unseeing, their owner so at ease in what he was doing that it actually drew a sense of peace to the normally agitated mecha.

Dai Atlas frowned thoughtfully. Drift's technique was all over the place. He would have to be trained right from the most basic katas, like a raw novice. Drift wasn't going to like it, the blue triple changer thought, then snorted to himself. Good for Drift. It would teach him patience, focus and humility. All things Drift had in short supply.

"For being spirit-trained, he's good," Wing said quietly from Dai Atlas' side. "Formal technique's a disaster, but in battle he'd be amazing to watch."

"He'll have to be trained right from the basics," Dai Atlas replied. "I can imagine how he's going to feel about that. But he's going to have to put up with it. Hopefully he'll know better than to vent at Axe and myself, but you are probably going to get an audioful afterward."

Wing snickered. "I doubt it'll be my audio that'll be full."

Dai Atlas had to snort at that, shaking his helm. "Don't say you weren't warned," he teased, waiting for Drift to finish while working out a training plan for the white grounder.

"Right, I've been warned," Wind managed to look more serious as Drift settled into a ready stance, then sheathed both short swords in a smooth flip before turning expectant pale blue optics on Dai Atlas.

Hiding his amusement, Dai Atlas stepped forward. "In free-form, you are fairly good. But where formal technique is concerned, a lot of work is needed. You will have to start with the very basics."

Drift nodded. He'd been expecting this once the shock settled at being told Wing wasn't going to be the one training him.

Dai Atlas's wings flared out once, then settled back into their folded position. "Let us begin."

* * *

><p>Twenty joors, well after dark, and Drift wanted nothing more than to mangle someone, preferably a triple changer. Any of them would do. Knight, Decepticon, Autobot ... they'd all pissed him off at some point or another. He didn't care whether they were responsible for his having to repeat the same simple slice with a practice sword over and over again the entire orn.<p>

He just wanted to tear something apart.

Somehow, it seemed that a warning had gone around, since Drift's path was suspiciously empty of mechs. There was no one in sight, though the sounds of a bustling city could still clearly be heard.

As Drift neared the quarters he shared with Wing, the white jet himself appeared. Wing glanced up briefly as two other airframes, one blue and one black, swept past high overhead, heading for a different part of the complex, before turning his attention to his mate.

Wing had been with his cadre when he'd gotten Axe's too-cheerful warning that Drift had been turned loose for the orn. The tone of the black mech's voice had told him that Drift was in a mood, but had at least managed to rein in his temper until _after_ the two elder Knights were done with him.

That roiling storm cloud of impending mass destruction seemed to turn on itself as pale blue optics blinked. Two more steps and Wing felt Drift's field reach out for him before the mech himself did. Frustration, inadequacy and a desperate need to be in _control_ flowed freely.

Wing's field flowed out to mesh with Drift's, expressing calmness, reassurance, and there was a distinct tease of submission. The white jet smiled at Drift, backing into their quarters, watching the thunderstorm on legs stalk after him. Though he knew it would take more to settle his lover, he could already feel how much his simple presence settled Drift.

He knew Drift would say it was because Wing owned him, but Wing preferred to think that it was because Drift trusted him, felt _safe_ with him.

Golden optics met blue with a "come hither" look just before the white jet disappeared into their quarters, white wings fluttering teasingly before sliding out of sight. Wing knew Drift would be right behind him as he made a beeline for their berth.

Drift caught him at the perfect moment to push him onto the berth, stilling only when Wing's chest was pressed against the berth, aft in the air and Drift's hands working into wing joints with a touch that was controlling, demanding, but careful to only offer pleasure in exchange.

Wing shivered at the touches on his sensitive wing joints, leaning into Drift's hands. The jet wriggled on the berth, pressing back into Drift, golden optics glimmering over his shoulder at the white grounder as fields meshed and flared, both bright with desire as Drift's engine growled.

The quiet snick of an interface cover opening and Drift's spike hardened against Wing's aft, rubbing against the sensitive metal skin in a decidedly unsubtle request.

Wing's valve cover snapped open immediately. He arched his back, pressing his hips back into Drift's pelvic plating. Slim white wings spread out, fluttering under Drift's hands as they were stroked possessively.

They both moaned in pleasure as Drift thrust forward, sinking right to the spike's base in a single motion and held there, soaking in the pleasure from his spike and from his lover.

The white jet trembled under him, letting out a long, low moan. Shifting position slightly, Wing arched back into Drift, hissing softly as the motion caused Drift's spike to run over another set of sensor nodes as Drift drew his hips back. Strong black fingers worked deeper into wing joints, drawing a whine from Wing as he was torn between what pleasure to pay attention too.

"Mine," Drift growled, leaning forward to press against Wing's back, his fingers still deep in wing joints and his hips driving forward with his full strength.

The jet chirred assent, giving up the idea of paying attention to just one source of pleasure, simply letting it wash through his sensor net. His hips rocked back into Drift's, matching his mate's rhythm, stretching out his wings as far as they would go for all the attention Drift cared to give them. In the back of his processor memories played of 'the talk' Dai Atlas had given him shortly before he bonded about dealing with a highly aggressive mate in the berth. It had proven useful more than once with his Drift, and clearly would with this one too.

Above him Drift growled, grunted and groaned as he pistoned his hips against Wing's, driving his spike in deep and hard with each thrust.

Overload was building in the white jet. He could feel it, gathering like a storm, ready to break. Digging his fingers into the surface of the berth, he pressed back, taking Drift's spike as deep as it could go.

A few more thrusts and Drift roared, pumping hot transfluid into Wing's valve as he pulled the jet backwards into his thrusts. Wing's keen of overload was almost a shriek. The charge crackled and snapped over his plating, arcing across flared wings, leaping off onto Drift. The jet's back bowed, his helm's crest and the tips of his audial flares almost brushing Drift's chestplate.

It sent a shudder through Drift that had nothing to do with his own overload and only encouraged him to continue thrusting through the peak, as it faded and driving them both to another high.

Wing's whole body was shuddering from the overload before falling almost limp across the berth, vents open, panting heavily. If he hadn't been braced against Drift he probably would have ended up sliding off the berth onto the floor as his knee struts decided to go AWOL on him. Instead he ended up flat on his front until Drift pulled out and flipped him over before driving his spike back into the quivering valve and claiming Wing's mouth.

It took a couple of fumbled attempts, but Wing managed to curl one leg around Drift's hips, his body still almost limp from the first overload. He eagerly returned the kiss, deepening it, his glossa lightly exploring his mate's mouth. Yes, Drift could be domineering, but Wing couldn't find it in himself to complain when it felt like this.

Their moans mingled as Drift found his rhythm, pounding into his lover relentlessly as he worked off the frustration of the orn by proving his skill at something else physical.


	9. Time Heals

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Axe/Dai Atlas, Drift/Wing  
><strong>Rating<strong>:  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

* * *

><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 09: Time Heals<strong>

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><p>A metacycle had passed since Wing and his cadre had returned to New Crystal City, being accepted by the local Circle, and since Drift had begun his training under Dai Atlas and Axe. Over time, the shock of having two mechs or two femmes with such similar designations and appearances had worn off, and the city had settled into a business as usual routine.<p>

Dai Atlas walked into the quarters he shared with his mate, putting his swords aside for cleaning and sharpening. The blue mech stretched, popping several joints, stretching out his long wings as far as they would go. Shaking himself slightly, he lowered his wings again, looking to see if Axe had gotten back yet. The sound of the shower's blowers turning on marked the end of the black mech's post-sparing routine.

Dai Atlas smiled to himself, putting down the energon cubes he'd brought back with him. Walking over to the washracks door, he leaned on the frame, openly admiring his mate's gleaming ebony frame as Axe dried off. Warm red optics trailed over every angle of Axe's chassis and line of his armor, and the blue mech's fingers twitched.

"If you touch, we'll never get our work done," Axe chuckled even as he stretched to show off himself a little more. "I'd rather not try to think before dawn, you know."

Dai Atlas actually pouted at him. "You're making it so hard to resist touching you," he pointed out, reluctantly backing off, making sure Axe could see just how much reluctance. But the black mech still had a point.

"Waiting will make it all the sweeter," Axe chuckled as he finished drying off. "How are Wing's cadre doing?"

"They're settling in... Most of them are still pretty jumpy and all of them will need a lot longer than one vorn to relax from the hair trigger they'd been living on." Dai Atlas handed his lover a cube of energon, sitting on the edge of their berth. "Marwir's temper is still very abrasive. But at least even she is no longer seeing threats in every shadow."

"I thought Redline fixed her processors?" Axe cocked his head before sipping on the energon.

"He fixed the physical and programming issues. Nothing but time and safety can fix millennia of living broken," Dai Atlas vented. "She's _learned_ to be insane."

"Not that different from Drift when we first met him," Axe nodded. "He just had no idea how to be a civilized mecha."

"The Autobots managed to civilize him slightly... Very slightly. At least they got him somewhat more accustomed to large groups. It will take time for him to settle down, as well. Wing is helping, but even I have to admit that Wing is not the most stable of mechs, either."

"Given what he's been through, I'm amazed he's as stable as he is," Axe pointed out. "A broken bond isn't an easy thing to survive."

The larger mech nodded slowly, sipping at his own energon cube. He sidled closer to his mate, recalling how terrified he had been when Axe had left the city to fight the slavers alongside Wing and the others, his own fear at the thought of losing his other half. "It has occurred to me that bonding with Drift would help Wing... But Drift is skittish, that much is clear. It will take a long time." A shiver ran through him before he changed the subject. "And Drift is improving with the training. Even though the repetition is driving him up the wall."

Axe snickered. "You're enjoying tormenting him as much as I am." He leaned to brush against his mate's plating. "Maybe I'll try talking to Wing again. See how things are going with Drift from his side of things. He likes loosing himself in training too much. As much as I approve of wanting to perfect his forms, I think he might be trying to avoid harder things."

"It would not surprise me in the least." Dai Atlas leaned into the contact. "He's stubborn that way. And yes, I am having fun tormenting him." A smirk appeared on the blue mech's face.

"Wing has a lot of grief to processes," Axe murmured, shifting to rest his helm against Dai Atlas' shoulder. "I keep hoping we've given him enough here to start to process his losses."

"Considering the sheer amount of grief he has to process, it might take him a long time to work through it," Dai Atlas replied, wrapping an arm around Axe's shoulders. "His whole city razed the ground, his family gone... Everything he's been through since leaving the ruins behind. It might yet be too painful for him to delve into too deeply. Healing will be a long time coming."

"For all of them," Axe nodded, grateful for the support of the simple contact. "We'll give them time. Every one of them is worth it."

"They are," Dai Atlas rumbled softly. For a long moment he stayed silent, simply enjoying the contact with his other half, his lover, his mate. A contented purr escaped his vocalizer, only to be matched by Axe's.

"We're the luckiest creators," Axe murmured. "We have our creation back, and he _wants_ to be our creation."

"We are lucky," Dai Atlas agreed. "Since losing Wing I've regretted being so distant and cold with him... Being given a second chance, it's a miracle from Primus."

"He never doubted how much you loved him, from the orn we called him from the Circle of Swords to the orn he returned to Primus," Axe smiled. "He saw you for what you were, and knew what you felt."

Dai Atlas vented at that. He'd seen himself in a different light, too stern and distant. The big mech shifted, sidling closer to his mate, stretching a wing against Axe's back. "I know... But that doesn't stop me from wishing I'd shown it more."

"I know," Axe smiled gently. "We have that chance now. I can feel how little you intend to waste it."

"Don't intend to waste a moment of it." Dai Atlas snorted softly. "Unless Wing tells me to back off a bit..."

A snicker and stolen kiss. "I doubt it, so long as you don't try to get between him and Drift."

Dai Atlas hummed into the kiss. "Not planning to. Give me some credit here."

"Always," Axe smiled and reached around to draw his mate down, laying comfortably against his side as he lightly stroked along Dai Atlas' chest. "Perhaps ... we can call a new Knight or two soon? It's been so long since there's been a sparkling in our ranks."

The blue mech let himself be pulled down, running the fingers of one hand lightly down Axe's back. Considering, Dai Atlas made a thoughtful sound. "I see no reason to say no..." He tilted his helm, nipping lightly at his mate's helm.

With a shiver Axe tried to focus on his thoughts. "Thoughts on who should raise the next one?"

"My questionable sense of humor is insisting on Wing and Drift, but I don't think they're ready... They are not stable enough, and Drift is still too much of a firebrand," Dai Atlas mumbled, trying to get his own thoughts straight. "Perhaps Zephyr and Aurora?"

Axe hummed thoughtfully. "They have made a few comments, and while I very badly want Wing and Drift to be creators, I agree, they aren't ready. Not until they physically bond, and not until they've said _something_ about wanting to. It'll never occur to Drift, but Wing knows how it works. Silk has also commented. She's nearly a master, and even without a partner, I think she'd do well."

"You just want to be a grand-creator," Dai Atlas teased affectionately. "Those two will have a sparkling of their own one day. Once Wing has softened Drift up a little."

"And they've both settled into believing that this is all real," Axe pointedly didn't deny his desire. "I'd like another of our own too, but Wing and Drift are as demanding as any sparkling."

Dai Atlas' laugh vibrated through both of them. "Dealing with Wing and Drift is like raising twin sparklings, it seems like, sometimes. I also wouldn't mind another, but, alas, our turn will have to wait until our current pair are ready."

"Yes," Axe smiled and snuggled close, content to simply bask in his mate's presence and the pleasant touches. "But what a pair they make. So much strength and fire. Drift is a fine addition to our ranks."

"He is," Dai Atlas agreed softly, tracing his fingers over his mate's helm, contented. "Now to make him see that..."

"Give him time," Axe repeated his oft-given advice on the pair. "He needs to come to terms with his own value before he can see himself as valuable to others."

"He believes he has no value," the blue mech replied. "We tell him he does, and so does Wing... It doesn't seem to get through his processor." One wing flicked in a bit of a shrug. "Not going to be easy."

Axe shook his helm. "Oh, he knows he has value. That's our problem. He's a valuable warrior. Valuable killer. Valuable lover," he sighed and grumbled. "He needs to learn his value as a _mecha_, but what he's asked to do only reinforces his belief that his only value is to fight or interface. It's driving Wing nuts enough to need to vent," he added as an explanation.

The Knight leader vented heavily. "And people call me stubborn..." Red optics met blue. "That's one issue I'm not certain how to deal with."

"I'm going to trust Wing that once Drift is ready to merge sparks it'll improve," Axe snuggled in. "It's hard to deny a truth there. Might take a few rounds, but Wing will get through to him. He has done this before."

"True," Dai Atlas agreed after a moment. There were times he actually did forget that Wing was older than he looked, had been bonded to a Drift before. "It might take a long time, but Wing will get through to him." Dark-armored arms wrapped around his mate's body, holding him close. If the blue mech's wings could have bent that way, he would have wrapped them around Axe as well.

The sentiment made Axe purr deeply in contentment and he let his optics turn off. "The next few centuries will be good ones to see. We can watch our creations grow up and grow closer."

"It certainly won't be boring." Dai Atlas nuzzled his mate's helm, then settled himself comfortably, turning off his own optics and settling in for a good recharge.

* * *

><p>Axe made his way to a cafe that Wing had long favored when he needed to vent or morn. It was well away from the Citadel, away from everything that was <em>Knight<em> and _Circle_ and most especially the power of his creators. For that reason, Axe left all his swords in his quarters and knew his creation would do the same. This had been their little getaway ever since Axe had first tracked down his wayward creation here as a newly upgraded youngling.

With a nod to the proprietor Axe took a seat at one of the few tables suitable for his frame size and waited for his creation and the silver, copper and mercury doctored midgrade.

It wasn't long before Wing appeared, pausing in the doorway to look around, then moving toward the familiar black form. Sliding into a seat across from Axe, Wing leaned against the table, venting heavily.

"I take it he's being more exasperating than usual?" Axe couldn't help but feel some amusement at his creation's expense.

"Never again will I complain about Dai being stubborn," Wing groaned, letting his forehelm hit the surface of the table with a dull clang. "Drift is starting to drive me right up the wall."

"And not in the good way," Axe nodded. "Though I'm fairly certain that Dai needs to take a fair chunk of the blame. He's going his best to drive Drift up the wall, and the mech can't fly."

Wing mumbled something that sounded like "Dai Atlas" and "pink paint", but it was too muffled to tell for sure. When their cubes arrived, the white jet lifted his head to look, then pushed himself up and took a sip.

"So what's he _doing_?" Axe asked after giving Wing a moment to enjoy the mild energon.

"Drift is still determined that he's only good for fighting," Wing replied after a moment, his wings drooping. "No matter how often I tell him otherwise, he doesn't believe me. He's convinced that his purpose in life is violence."

"It is his gift. It's all he's ever known," Axe reminded Wing gently. "It's _safe_ to him; it's what he understand." He paused. "Have I ever told you what Dai was like when we founded the Circle of Light?"

The white jet blinked at the larger black mech. "Doesn't make it any less aggravating." He took another sip of his energon, savoring the taste. "No, you never did."

"Well, before New Crystal City he was a great warrior, very much like Drift. Gifted for violence, sparked a warrior and seasoned by countless wars. I was there for much of it. Trained with him, guarded his wings, watched as he lost all sense of balance in functioning. For a long time he didn't see anything but battle and preparation for it."

Wing blinked. "What finally knocked him out of that mindset? Looking at him now, I wouldn't see any of that."

"Something I don't recommend springing on Drift," Axe chuckled. "He was assigned a sparkling warrior to raise. Little pit-spawn got under his armor in the best ways, more than I ever managed. Did a number on me too. Somewhere in those first few vorns of caring for another he lost sight of the idea that all he was good for was war."

The white jet had to chuckle at the thought. "No, I wouldn't do that to Drift. He would have a spark attack at the very thought." The expression that flitted across his face was as good as confirmation that Wing did want a sparkling of his own to raise some day in the future.

"Perhaps after Zephyr and Aurora's is a Knight, you'll have worked him up to the idea," Axe grinned mischievously. "Or at least into bonding."

Slender wings twitched. "A new spark is going to be called forth?" Wide golden optics fixed on warm blue.

"It's not official yet, but he's agreed," Axe nodded. "I expect it will be public in the next few orns after they formally agree to raise it."

"It's been a long time since I've even see a sparkling." Gold optics dimmed, then the white jet shook himself, visibly throwing off an old, painful memory.

"It's been a long time for all of us," Axe murmured into a sip of energon. "There hasn't been one since Blueflash was called."

"Time to sparkling-proof the Citadel again," Wing murmured in response.

"Yes," Axe couldn't help but smile into his cube. "Who knows, maybe just having one around will help Drift out."

"Once he gets over the shock of seeing a sparkling, I hope so. I've tried everything." The jet looked briefly miserable. "He's still far too skittish for a spark merge. It took my Drift half a century to trust me that far, and this Drift is even more skittish about the subject."

Axe hummed. "Have you thought about letting the subject of what he's good for drop until he trusts you enough to feel it for himself?"

Gold optics flickered in a blink. "Can't say that I have," Wing admitted after a long, thoughtful moment.

"Might be worth giving it a try," he suggested. "Winning against the stubborn ones like our mates sometimes requires a subtle approach. It's not like he'll get himself killed here, so you have time to let him relax and settle in his own right. He might also be more agreeable to seeing reason when he's past the basic katas and actually gets to spar again."

Wing pondered that for a moment. "He should also be less... aggressive... when he returns from his training. At least he'll stop mumbling about wanting to maul the nearest triple changer."

Axe laughed, softly but with a deep rumble of amusement. "Most of the aggressive ones are. Any specifics on how he wants to maul us?"

"Painfully, is about all I can get out of him on that subject," was the response, a grin finally appearing on Wing's face as Axe laughed.

"Have you sparred with him, just for fun and to let him get some fighting in?" Axe suddenly asked. "It can do wonders for Dai."

"Not as often as I'd like," Wing admitted. "Last time, I snuck up on Dai with one of the paint-edged training blades and doodled a smiley face on Dai's wing. Took him forever to notice. That was a while ago, though."

A confused look flickered across Axe's features for a moment before he recognized the sharp turn Wing's processors had taken from the question he'd asked into a fond memory.

"Yes, it was. I had fun getting the paint off, though," he purred in memory of that night. They'd both laughed pretty hard at their youngest creation's adult antics.

Wing smiled, sipping at his energon cube. "If I can get a free joor or so with Drift, between sessions of Dai drilling katas into his processor, I'll spar with him. I need the practice myself." Golden optics gleamed. "I'd ask to spar with you while you're waiting for your turn to chase Drift around the training arena, but you're usually recharging against the wall, and I know better than to wake you before you're good and ready."

"Even my dear Dai is afraid of doing that," Axe laughed easily. "Maybe we can manage a round after Drift has settled in for the night. Or would be enjoy watching you against your better?"

Wing shook his helm. "Drift wouldn't enjoy that, actually. It would be better after he's settled in. He's grumpy enough as it is."

Axe gave an understanding nod. Sometimes it wasn't good to know just how low down the rankings you really were. "Tonight then? I think it would do some good to have a proper workout."

Wing nodded, smiling. "I'll meet you at the training arena." His wings were already twitching in anticipation.

With a smile in return, Axe felt himself relax. He'd succeeded in making his creation relax, smile, laugh ... Wing would be ready to face Drift again. Those two were far too addicted to each other to break apart over training.

"So beyond Drift's temper at night, how are you doing?"

"Finally starting to settle back into a peaceful life... My cadre and I have been alone and on the move for so long, it's... more difficult than anticipated for us to settle back down," Wing replied. "We're adjusting, albeit slowly."

"Even Marwir?" he asked cautiously. "I know she hasn't gotten into _trouble_, but that doesn't mean she's okay."

Wing groaned softly. "Mostly we've been managing to keep her out of trouble. Part of the difficulty is that there are so many familiar faces here. We know them. But we don't. It's been... awkward. Kimark had a mate before the city fell. I'm not looking forward to when he and his mate's counterpart cross paths."

Axe hummed in sympathy. "What's the designation? I might be able to arrange a controlled introduction if they are here."

"Firefall," Wing replied. "Gladiatorial background, like Kimark himself. Not sure if they were actually bonded, but they were very close.

Axe nodded and pinged the city's database. "Currently in emergency response," he said when the data came back. "She's fairly new to the city. Came well after Drift left."

"Any meeting would have to be carefully arranged." Wing nodded slowly. "I really can't say how Kimark will react."

"Better under supervision that can stop any trouble than out here without a watchful optic," Axe pointed out. "I'll see about arranging it."

"Thank you." Wing's smile was bright, his wings relaxed and beginning to show his natural good mood.

"Of course," Axe reached out and rubbed the top of Wing's helm just as he did when the jet was much, much younger. "What troubles have your Knights had in adapting? Is there anything I can do to help them settle?"

Wing leaned into the touch, letting out a soft chirr. "Mostly it's that we're so used to fighting, orn in and orn out. It was rare for us to go very long without running into another group of Decepticons or even the occasional Quintesson. We're just... not used to the quiet life anymore."

"I remember how traumatic the transition was," Axe hummed with a knowing smile. "Dai and I both spent our entire functioning in battle or preparing for it until he decided that this war wasn't going to be won and preserving civilization was more critical. It will get easier in time. You'll settle into the new rhythm. Just give it a few centuries."

"We are losing the hair trigger, thank Primus... As long as no one sneaks up on us." Wing winced, recalling one such incident. One of the medical assistants had popped up unexpectedly, and it had taken Wing and several other members of the cadre to stop Marwir from gutting said assistant before she _saw_ who it was.

She'd grumbled something about suicidal medics, which was as close to an apology as she came. Even with her damaged processors, protocols and memory repaired and settled, habits of so long didn't end just because their original cause was gone.

"Yes, I heard about that. I believe everyone in the Citadel knows to make sure you know they're coming well before entering strike range," Axe had to suppress his humor out of respect for Wing's stress about events. "Good reason to keep most of you restricted to the grounds for now."

"It'll be a while yet before we're ready to mingle with the general population," Wing agreed. "We're still too jumpy, too quick to react. And not used to dealing with large groups still."

"Is it too soon for you?" he asked gently, offering his creation an out for the location he'd chosen, not thinking of how stressful it might be.

Wing shook his helm. "I'm fine... I like this place, always have. I've missed it since the city fell, back where we came from."

Axe gave a relieved nod. "Why I suggested it. Not many places the two of us can get away that isn't my quarters." He smiled warmly and reached out to rub Wing's chevron again, enjoying the purr and warm, affectionate contact with his creation. "It's so good to have you back."

"It's good to be back," Wing murmured, almost melting into the touch. "It's good to have a home again, to have my creators and my mate again..."

"To be more I expect, once _he's_ calmed down," Axe smiled, giving his creation no doubt that the union was approved of, at least by one creator. "You are quite the pair, and you've been so good for him."

"I truly hope so." Wing's smile was wistful. Then his optics brightened at the approval and Axe smiled a little more.

"Just don't ever forget that you have more family than just Drift," Axe focused, his fingers still caressing Wing. "No matter how many creations we raise, you are special."

"Won't forget," Wing replied, his optics dimming in delight at the caressing. "After having lost my family once, I plan on sticking like industrial adhesive."

"Glad to hear it," Axe's powerful engines rumbled with pleasure. "I don't think Dai would _ever_ get over loosing you twice."

"I think losing me again would break him," Wing murmured, finishing his cube. After a moment, he scooted around the table to lean against Axe. "Not going anywhere. I'm home. And I'm home to stay."

"Good," Axe wrapped a large arm around him and held him close, content to simply enjoy the contact for now.


	10. A New Mood

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Axe/Dai Atlas, Drift/Wing  
><strong>Rating<strong>:  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

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><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 10: A New Mood<strong>

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><p>::He's not snarling to himself about killing us this time,:: Axe's cheerful voice distracted Wing from a game of Sky Lords he was playing with Marwir.<p>

::That in itself is a miracle,:: Wing replied with a chuckle.

"You're leaving for _him_," Marwir grumbled, though with slightly less venom that she had three metacycles ago.

"Better that I meet him than him mauling an innocent bystander," the jet replied. "Most of the time, when Dai Atlas and Axe are done with him for the orn, his temper is worse than yours."

She huffed through her vents. "All the more reason he _shouldn't_ have a Great Sword. He's not Knight material."

"He is," Wing replied firmly. "Once he is fully trained he will be a fine Knight."

"You say that because he's _yours_," she flicked her wings dismissively. "Mech is gifted with violence, not self control. He'll never be sane enough to make a full Knight."

"Dai Atlas had the same gift of violence in his past, and look at him now," Wing pointed out. "Drift will master himself. I know he will." Golden optics regarded the femme for a long moment. As difficult as it was for him, he was beginning to understand the how and why of her hatred of Drift. Built during insanity, but it centered around an outlet for her own self-hatred. What hurt was knowing that trying address the issues of her own lack of self-control and gift for battle wasn't the answer. Not directly at least. She wasn't ready to admit to the cause, even though the medics had worked it out in under a metacycle.

It was a battle she had to fight herself, within herself, until she found a trine of her own to help her through it. Wing didn't understand why he didn't feel the need so many of his cadre did, but he suspected it was because his spark had never been keyed firmly to that of a Seeker. He had no doubt that Marwir had been, that for all spark purposes, she was Seeker, and she wasn't the only one.

Wing regarded the Knight for a long moment, wondering what to do. What could be done, he wasn't sure. After that long moment, he left her quarters, returning to his own before Drift came looking for him.

There was no way he was going to squander Drift's less-than-savage mood on making the grounder look for him.

He had just enough time to pour two cubes of quality grounder midgrade and doctor it with the arsenic and copper that Drift had a particular affection for before the door slid open. He could feel the difference immediately. Yes, Drift was still worked up, still frustrated by the orn's simple katas, but he was also in a more thoughtful mood than usual.

"Better day, relatively speaking?" Wing offered Drift one of the cubes, tilting his helm slightly to one side.

"Not really. Your creators are enjoying this entirely too much," he grumbled and dropped into one of the overstuffed chairs, only to open one arm in invitation for Wing to sit on his lap. "Axe said something odd I'm still trying to work out."

The jet immediately took to invitation, chirring as he settled onto Drift's lap, leaning against warm white armor. "Oh? What did he say?"

"Something about my doing things so out of order, starting with bonding and then beginning to train." He said, taking a sip of the energon with a contended sound before stealing a kiss from his lover. "We're not bonded."

Wing returned the kiss, humming happily. "You're bonded to the Sword. Most Knights have to complete their training before bonding to a Great Sword."

Drift went stiff, his field pulling in tight, but not before Wing felt the brunt of just how shocked Drift was.

"How?" he finally managed to get out, a summary of everything running around his processors.

"The Sword was active when your Wing was killed," Wing replied after a moment. "When you picked it up and used it to bring down his killer, it bonded to you. It wouldn't allow you to carry it otherwise. The Swords can be... a little picky about that."

Drift's optics cycled a couple times, then he just stared at his lover for a moment.

"Right ... so that's why Dai Atlas gave it to me." Something dark flickered up in Drift's filed, but it died down quickly. "He didn't have much choice, did he?"

"I'm not sure. I would think that, considering he'd just lost his creation, he had other things on his processor at the moment," the jet replied after a moment. "Whether it bonded to you as soon as you picked it up or not, it is bonded to you now, and that can't be changed."

Drift was silent, thoughtful, for almost too long.

"So ... how does it _normally_ work?"

"Normally, initiates complete their training and are formally accepted into the Circle before they bond to a Great Sword," Wing told him, shifting position slightly. "Each Sword has a different 'personality', so they choose their bearer. The new Knight is presented to the unbonded Great Swords for the choice. If they pick up one that likes them, it will accept them. If not, they'll be flat on their aft and told to choose again when they boot up. There's a chance that Too Pure didn't bond to you immediately, but after you left the planet it did." He shifted again. "My Drift had bonded to a Sword with a personality that closely matched his own. It was... an interesting combination."

Drift hummed, his hands stroking sleek white plating as he processed that. "Explosive, I expect," he chuckled. "Rebellious, stubborn, determined to be in charge of his own fate at all costs. Much like you, only without the redeeming qualities."

"Challenger of Ways was just as stubborn and temperamental as its bearer," Wing agreed, settling down against Drift. "It was a good, if occasionally exasperating, match."

"I don't doubt it," Drift didn't suppress a deep chuckle of amusement and tipped Wing's helm up with a finger to kiss him, long, slow and with growing desire. "Did he ever calm down?"

Wing chirred into the kiss, returning it with equal passion. "He still questioned every rule there was, drove Dai Atlas right up the wall and back down the other side with it, but he did gain more self-control, and he could plan with the best of them," he replied. "Challenger of Ways was... is... very aptly named."

"And very much what every commander I've ever had thought of me," Drift smirked into another kiss, his hands sliding down white plating in an open invitation/request for more. "But I only challenged because I was _right_."

Wing chuckled. "I recall a couple of instances where Drift challenged Dai simply for the purpose of winding him up, but that was rare." Finishing his energon, he set the empty cube aside, stroking his own hands over Drift's spaulders and relishing the way the grounder arched and pressed into the touch with a blissful moan.

In retaliation Drift's hands found folded wings and their leading edges to stroke and squeeze.

Wing trembled at the touches. Drift was well aware of how sensitive a flyer's wings were and knew very well how to use it to his advantage. The panels immediately spread out, offering more sensitive seams and surfaces to Drift's strong hands. Wing's own fingers curled around to the undersides of Drift's spaulders, tracing along the seams, along the wheel wells and into the heavily reinforced but also heavily sensored shoulder joints.

Drift's fingers twitched and nearly slid away with a deeply resonant moan as a particularly sensitive set of sensors here stroked.

Golden optics brightened at that sound. Humming softly, Wing stroked his fingers over those sensors again, gliding his fingertips over the sensors. He shifted on Drift's lap, leaning forward to nip lightly along Drift's collar. The heat was already building, nearly as intoxicating to the white jet as the sound and feel of Drift's arousal and his efforts to reciprocate the pleasure.

A knowing glossa slid out to caress Wing's chevron and Drift's hands steadied to play along the leading edge before moving down to stroke the small control surfaces.

The sound Wing made was somewhere between a moan and coo. He leaned into Drift's hands, his fingers going after those sensors in the white grounder's spaulder again. The jet buried his face against Drift's throat, going after the cables with nips and licks that made Drift twitch with every one.

"Wing..." Drift's moan was low and deep, an expression of saw desire and hope for the future as it included the bonded modifiers.

Greatly daring, Wing leaned down and delicately nipped at the seams of Drift's chest armor, hoping that Drift wouldn't push him off for daring. His nacelles revved, vibrating against Drift's arms and shoulders.

With a low cry Drift let his helm fall back, exposing his throat even as the armor unlocked. It didn't open, but Wing had spent the better part of forty vorns getting his first bonded to this stage.

Hum became purr as Wing applied lips and glossa to the seams of the unlocked armor, the fingers of one hand stroking those sensors he'd discovered, the other hand working its way into seams and over sensitive plating down Drift's side. Cautiously, Wing unlocked his own chestplates, fingers migrating gradually to the seams of Drift's.

Blue optics turned off, taking in the intense pleasure, the _rightness_ of the touch. Thought had largely turned off, his trust of this mech enough to relax, believing he was safe.

"Wing..." he trembled, wanting ... wanting so badly something he didn't know the words for, or at least any ability to articulate it.

Wing's nacelles revved higher, sending vibrations through both mechs and getting an answering rev from Drift's powerful engine. Wing traced his fingers along Drift's chestplates, carefully and slowly sliding his fingers into the seams and opening the plates. Warm air gusted from the jet's vents, curling over sensitive circuitry.

Drift's vents hitched and stuttered in reply. The white grounder shuddered at _pleasure_ coming from exposing his spark chamber, even this small about. He knew, he didn't doubt, that it was meant to be pleasurable, that a _lover_ made all the difference. He wanted this, wanted to let Wing touch him in every way, but the most he could manage was to tremble, moan and gasp out his lover's designation in a plea to continue, to _understand_.

Wing purred, ghosting his fingertips over Drift's circuitry, along the undersides of his armor plates. Gently he folded back another plate, reaching up to slowly part his own. He was trembling faintly all over in anticipation, silently praying to Primus that Drift wouldn't change him mind and reject him.

Drift too was trembling in anticipation, but of an entirely different kind. Only brutal stubbornness and a constant play of the statement that Wing wouldn't hurt him and that he'd survived Megatron, he could survive this even if he was wrong kept him as still and compliant as he was.

He wanted all the stories to be true. The shivers that long-time mates had when they spoke of touching sparks.

He _wanted_ ... even if he couldn't force himself to be more active than to not resist and hope Wing understood.

Red-trimmed armor plates folded back, revealing Wing's spark core. Slowly, it opened, the golden-white light of Wing's spark leaking out, the color almost matching his optics. Wing shifted on Drift's lap, leaning close enough for threads of his spark's energy to brush Drift's chamber, gently coaxing it to open, love pouring through Wing's field.

A heady moan came from Drift as his entire frame jerked sharply. The pleasure of even this was nearly too much, but his spark chamber spiraled open fully in reply, offering, welcoming, _wanting_ as much as Drift had wanted anything in his existence.

Wing took a moment to admire his mate's bright red spark, then leaned forward to bring his into contact with Drift's. Threads of energy twined around each other as their two sparks merged, the jet gasping at the intense pleasure, then keened sharply as the burst of Drift's pleasure slammed into him from both their fields and lightly touching sparks.

With just the outer coronas touching, there was only pleasure, no sharing of anything more than their fields. Yet it was far more intense than anything Drift had anticipated. With an inarticulate cry he grabbed at Wing blindly, seeking to pull the jet closer.

The white jet had enough functioning processor left to figure out that going too fast was likely to overwhelm Drift. Echoing Drift's cry, he slowly eased closer, allowing their sparks to mingle more gradually, becoming more and more aware of Drift every moment. He pushed pure love into that awareness, surrounding Drift with it and _felt_ for the first time with this Drift, just how far he'd come on his own, but also how far he had to go.

Pleasure was one thing, but with their coronas half merged a spike of panic crashed through Drift's processors hard enough to echo in his spark and cause it to withdraw slightly. Too much, too close ... he wasn't ready to let even Wing see _this_ much of him.

_Pleasure_ ... Wing heard the silent plea, but also what it meant.

Back off.

Overload, but no more.

Wing heard, and slowly, reluctantly, he backed off. The rejection hurt, but he was still amazed that he had gotten this far. It had taken a very long time to get this far with his Drift. He withdrew just enough that he could no longer hear Drift's thoughts, but kept their coronas touching.

Gentle fingers ran up Drift's shoulder to find that sensitive sensor cluster in his spaulder again, his other hand searching for a matching node on the other side.

It, and the touch of their sparks without the stress of _sharing_ was more than enough. Drift roared into a screaming keen before his vocalizer shorted out. His hands clutched at Wing's frame, oblivious to anything but the incomparable pleasure of a spark overload as it was meant to be.

Wing's keen was closer to a shriek, breaking into static as his vocalizer, too, shorted out. His back arched, energy crackling over his frame, along the lengths of his wings. His arms stiffened, locking into place to keep him from collapsing onto Drift and merging their sparks any farther than his lover was comfortable with. After a long moment, Wing slumped sideways, against Drift's shoulder, almost sliding off his lap, body refusing to cooperate. The only thing that really kept him in place as their chest plates closed automatically were Drift's arms and the fraction of their frames.

As he came towards awareness one of the first things that registered was that Drift was completely off line.

Blearily, Wing lifted his head from where it lolled against Drift's arm. Blinking his optics to try and clear them, he looked at Drift, finally registering that the white grounder was out cold. Briefly, Wing debated what to do, then mentally shrugged and curled up in Drift's lap, leaning against him to enjoy the afterglow.


	11. Penance for Violence

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>:  
><strong>Rating<strong>: R for Violence  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Ritualized Torture  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

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><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 11: Penance for Violence<strong>

* * *

><p>The streets around Kimark were busy, full of life that didn't see him as a threat, barely saw him as a curiosity, and it felt <em>good<em>. Against his back, Stormsurge of War hummed happily.

Mechs and femmes passed Kimark mostly without noticing, though some did take notice of him, and they nodded a greeting as they passed. Optics flicked to the hilt of the Great Sword he carried, admiring it before passing him and disappearing back into the crowded streets.

It was all so normal Kimark actually felt the centuries begin to melt away. It was all so easy to forget this wasn't the city he had seen destroyed. So many semi-familiar faces, places, smells and sounds. It was all so peaceful, so utterly alien.

He felt rather like when he had first stepped off the ship to New Crystal City for the first time.

For several breems Kimark was able to maintain that state, of near-forgetting the past. Then a very familiar voice rose from somewhere nearby, a voice that was achingly familiar, one he'd thought he would never hear again.

"Firefall!" he turned on pede and ran towards her voice, his processors focused only on finding the closest thing he had to a mate or sister.

In one of the shops flanking the street was the source of the voice, a tall, well-built femme colored shades of red and orange and deep charcoal grey. She looked just like the femme Kimark remembered from before the fall of his city.

With her was a slate-gray and green mech, nodding at whatever Firefall was saying. Neither of them seemed to pay Kimark much mind until he was on them, sweeping Firefall in his arms to kiss her soundly, his field rich with joy and desire.

The femme let out a squawk of surprise, flailing until the Knight let go. Turning, she glared up at him. "Who are you and what the Pit was that?"

The gray and green mech took a step closer, eying Kimark warily only to have Kimark's engine growl a warning at him.

"Firefall?" Kimark asked in face of her confusion.

"My designation is Firefall," the femme confirmed. "But you, I don't know. Who are you?"

"She's with me," the gray and green mech growled.

"What have you _done_ to her?" Kimark snarled, his field rippling with outrage and distress. "How did you make my _mate_ forget me?"

Both gaped at the Knight for a long moment. Firefall was actually speechless for a long moment, to shocked to resist the strange dark maroon Knight's protective embrace.

"Your mate?" the mech echoed. "She's not your mate!"

"I've never seen you before in my life!" the femme finally got out.

"We fought as a team in Kaon for centuries," Kimark countered her, ignoring the agitated mech for the moment. "We came here together to get away from the arenas and war."

"My teammate was killed in the arenas," Firefall shot back, glaring at Kimark. "I came here alone!"

"Take the hint; she doesn't know you, and she isn't yours!" The green and grey mech took a threatening step forward.

Kimark's attention snapped to his challenger, long suppressed gladiator coding roaring to the surface. "What did you _do_ to her memories?" he demanded again.

"I did nothing!" the green and grey mech snarled back, getting right up in Kimark's face, ignoring all the signs that said doing so was a Majorly Bad Idea. "Just who the frag are you?"

By this point the surrounding crowd had backed off to a hopefully safe distance, watching uneasily. The shopkeeper had quickly called for the city's security forces, and the Knights since the strange mech carried a Great Sword.

"Kimark," he introduced himself with his full formal designation. Even the least educated could pick up 'champion gladiator of Kaon', 'mate of Firefall' and 'Knight of the Circle of Light' in the flowingly harsh sounds of his native dialect mixed with the musical lilt of New Crystal City.

Firefall stared. "That's impossible. Kimark's dead! I saw him torn to pieces in the arenas, centuries ago!"

The grey and green mech's purple optics narrowed. "I've seen the Knights out and about, but you I've never seen before. Firefall is not your mate; she's mine."

A roar of outraged denial exploded from Kimark as he lunged at the mech. He didn't draw his swords; gladiator protocols had no use for them. He wanted energon in his fists, to feel armor and circuitry crushed beneath his fingers.

The green and grey mech was not a fighter by any stretch of the imagination. He had been a scholar before relocating to New Crystal City, and he went down under Kimark's attack. His flailed attempts to defend himself were useless at fending the enraged Knight off. Firefall had more success, her long-abandoned gladiator training tearing into Kimark's heavy armor.

New Crystal City security forces were trying to make their way through the crowd, but with the bystanders all staring in shock they weren't making much headway. The same could not be said for the white and blue jet-formers from the Citadel, diving out of their air toward the brawl.

Dai Atlas' huge bulk darkened the sky over the conflict before the thundering impact of the giant landing snapped some out of their stupor, but doing little to the combatants.

The Knight leader took in the brawl with one sweeping glance and growled to himself. Wing landed on the other side, grabbing hold of Firefall and dragging her backward, holding her long enough for the security forces to push through the crowd. Leaving her to them, Wing turned toward Kimark just as Dai Atlas grabbed the other Knight by the scruff of his neck and heaved him right off the ground, holding him at arm's length.

"Kimark!" Wing snapped, wings flaring angrily.

"He _did_ something to her, made her forget me!" Kimark snarled at his cadre leader, though he offered no resistance to Dai Atlas.

Gold optics narrowed. "Your mate died, along with everyone except our small group, when the city fell," he informed Kimark, a sharp reminder that this was not their city, not their universe. "This femme is not your mate. As far as I have been able to tell, you have no counterpart in this reality."

Dai Atlas looked down at the mech Kimark had attacked, wincing as he saw the amount of damage. The mech would take orns to fully repair.

"It's _Firefall_," Kimark countered, his processors unwilling to admit that it wasn't _his_ Firefall.

"Knight Wing," Firefall called, wanting his attention without making the security officers or Knights any more upset than they were.

The white jet turned toward the hail, tilting his helm toward the femme. "Firefall."

"Kimark was my mate, but he was killed in the arena before I came here," she offered, then hesitated. "Is that really Kimark, a _different_ Kimark?"

Wing pondered for a moment how to answer that. "He is not the Kimark you knew," he said at last. "In another universe, where he came from, where I came from, Kimark and Firefall came to the city together. They were not bonded, but they were close, when our city was destroyed and she was killed. This mech is Kimark. Not the one you remember, but he is Kimark."

She nodded slowly. "Please keep him away from us, at least until he can control his temper."

By then enough interviews had been conducted that it was decided that she was only trying to defend her mate and the security mechs let her go to follow the medics who'd taken her mate to the hospital.

Wing nodded to her. "I will do my best." After watching her leave, he turned to Kimark, optics like golden ice. "You attacked a civilian."

That tone finally, _finally_ seemed to break through the gladiator mindset and snap Kimark back to being a Knight, at least somewhat. At least it was enough to make him cringe slightly in Dai Atlas' grip.

"He will have to face the consequences of his actions," Dai Atlas rumbled, his red gaze moving from Kimark to Wing.

Wing raised his chin. "I will see to his penance myself. I am his cadre leader; it is my responsibility."

"Very well," Dai Atlas accepted the request, then took off, still carrying an unresisting and increasingly humble and submissive Kimark. "Report to me when you are finished."

Wing took to the air behind Dai Atlas, following the larger mech back to the Citadel. Not another word passed between any of the Knights until Dai Atlas and Wing landed outside the entrance of the Circle's chambers.

The giant triple changer put Kimark down and pushed him towards Wing. He was privately relieved to feel the shame and submission already weaving into the Knight's field. It would be a painful penance, but not the worst inflicted in the room beneath the chamber.

Wing nodded respectfully to Dai Atlas, taking Kimark by the arm. The white jet's face was an expressionless mask as he led the former gladiator through the Citadel to the rooms where the more serious penances were carried out.

This was as serious as they got when the Knight in question left the room with their spark still in their frame. Wing sent a databurst message to Drift that he would be unavailable for at least an orn, likely much more, and shut down his comm system except for emergency access.

Kimark offered no resistance as he was lead to the room he had long ago learned to dread. Of all the Initiates and new Knights, he'd spent the most time in one of these of any of them, been broken down to the point he couldn't even will himself to move and spent vorns in the medbay over his training recovering from hundreds of penances.

Wing remained silent as he led Kimark down to the penance rooms, giving the room a quick once-over as he pushed Kimark in. The room looked virtually identical to the rooms from their fallen city: hooks on the walls for binding, some hanging from the ceiling, and off to one side a cabinet of the equipment needed for the more severe penances.

They both knew what was coming. They'd both been on the giving and receiving end of it.

Without a sound Kimark stepped to the center of the room and lowered himself to both knees, his helm bowed deeply enough that he wouldn't be able to see more than Wing's pedes when the jet was directly in front of him close enough to touch. With a slight tremor he drew Spark of War and laid the Great Sword across outstretched wrists, offering it to Wing until he was once more deemed purified enough to bear it.

"You attacked a civilian." Wing's voice was cool and level as he took the Great Sword, setting it in a bracket on one wall. Turning on one heel, he went to the cabinet, opening it and examining the contents for a moment before reaching for a spool of red cord. "You forgot that we are not from this city, and when you heard a familiar voice you went for it with no thought as to the circumstances or consequences."

Long familiar with the ritual, Kimark remained still and silent as his crimes, his failings, were listed. He knew he had a long way to go this time when his regret was for putting Wing through this far more than what he had done to the civilian.

His spark was still screaming at him to find Firefall and reclaim her.

Wing continued to list what Kimark had done and why it had been wrong as he bound the other Knight's wrists with the red cord. His voice maintained an icy edge all through the recitation. Finished with the binding, Wing returned to the cabinet, locating and lifting out an electro-whip.

"Are you sorry for what you have done?" He turned back to Kimark, powering up the whip.

"I am sorry for how it has reflected on the Knights. I am sorry for what you must do to put this right." He drew in a deep vent, determined not to make this any worse by lying. "I am not sorry for trying to reclaim Firefall."

Golden optics flashed, like golden ice. The first stroke of the whip came down across Kimark's shoulders, scoring deep enough into the enamel to expose bare metal. The second stroke, right on the heels of the first, caught Kimark across the back of the neck and helm.

"You would have done no less for Drift," Kimark resisted the incessant demands on his HUD to shut down his sensor net to pain. He had no right to speak, much less say _that_, but he also _wanted_ the pain, the punishment.

Even a former gladiator was still a Knight, and all that was the Knight demanded he be punished until every such thought was beaten out of him, even if it broke him completely in the processes.

This time the whip struck a seam along Kimark's side and hip, sending fiery pain lancing through the sensitive circuitry. Wing said nothing, his face an icy mask and optics colder than space itself. The next blow he aimed lower, bringing the lash down hard across the backs of Kimark's thighs, scoring deeply into the metal.

His frame quivered minutely, the pain very real and making it difficult to process much beyond withstanding the next blow as the whip crisscrossed his frame. Withstanding was something Kimark excelled at on a level that few Knights could come close to.

Wing angled the next blow across Kimark's bound wrists, the sizzling lash curling into the sensitive join of hand and forearm. Kimark's fingers spasmed involuntarily. As Wing drew back the whip for another blow, the tip of the lash caught Kimark across the faceplate, leaving a crack across his optic lens.

"Are you sorry for what you have done?" the white jet repeated, voice icy cold.

It took a couple hard vents and rebooting his vocalizer to answer, and again, it was the unvarnished truth.

"No," he trembled at the intensity of emotion that was only growing. Another breem at this rate and it will have crested, giving him _something_ as he crashed over the precipice that would allow him to let go, at least in part. "I want him dead."

Wing sent the lash hard across Kimark's face, both optics shattering under the blow. Bits of the optic lenses clinked on the metal floor as they fell away.

The jet circled the kneeling Knight for a moment, clinically studying his body for the best place to land the next blow. After a long moment, he reached out and harshly stripped Kimark of his backplate, the next whipstroke landing across exposed, unprotected circuitry.

Finally Kimark stiffened as a small cry of pain escaped him, but his field was still electric with the desire to destroy.

Anger. Pain. Humiliation. Rejection. Betrayal. Hate ... the hate soon dominated his field, his mind, taking him back to the arena pits.

Wing stripped off more of Kimark's armor, ripping it free without bothering to unlatch it. Bright energon was beginning to seep across Kimark's exposed systems, dripping off onto the floor. Each new piece was tossed aside, out of the way, leaving fresh territory for the whip to strike across.

The lash struck right across Kimark's lower back and sides, digging into particularly sensitive circuitry. The blow sent Kimark forward, catching himself with his bound hands. As he circled the Knight, Wing brought his pede down hard on Kimark's fingers, feeling and hearing the delicate servos crunching.

Finally Kimark cried out in real pain, pure reflex trying to pull his fingers away even as he ordered his frame to still, to accept the damage as his due. The desire to tear into the gray and green mech faded, though the hate, jealousy and hurt at loosing Firefall was still roaring at Wing through his field.

Wing deliberately leaned his weight on Kimark's crushed fingers before lifting his pede, circling the other Knight slowly. Another piece of Kimark's armor went flying into the corner, baring more of Kimark's internals to the lash of the whip. Energon was starting to pool around the bound Knight's legs, sparks leaping from damaged circuitry, broken coolant lines adding to the growing mess.

Vents hitched but Kimark gave no other sign of the agony consuming every neural line in his frame. He needed more, _much_ more. Hate roiled up, lashing out at Wing for lack of anywhere else to go.

The whip lashed out several times, digging deep into the exposed systems. Something broke, spraying sparks and the sharp smell of charred circuits. Wing contemplated Kimark for a moment before cracking the whip at his face, across his shattered optics, driving bits of the crystal into the delicate circuits underneath.

A sharp cry echoed in the chamber as Kimark jerked away from the strike as best he could, only to stop himself for force his battered frame back in position.

"Are you sorry for what you have done?" Wing asked again.

It was a long moment of silence before Kimark tried, only for static overpower the words. He was forced to shake his helm. He might be getting closer to purging the emotions and thoughts, but not yet.

He knew. Wing knew. He would be a shattered pile of unmoving, short-circuited metal before it was over.

Wing would have to shut him down, bring him to the brink of extinguishing and hold him there until he had accepted his own end before it would be over.

Unacceptable outburst or not, he'd spoken the truth. He would have to take the same level of punishment that it would take for Wing to let go of Drift before he could let go of Firefall.

Wing delivered several lightning-fast blows in quick succession across Kimark's upper back and shoulders, then brought the lash down hard over his crushed hands. Energon flew, spattering the floor and Wing's white armor. Bits of circuitry were beginning to come off, flayed down to bare wiring or torn off entirely.

The white jet circled Kimark slowly, looking him over. Reaching up, he pulled down one of the tension hooks from the ceiling, hauling up Kimark's bound wrists and slipping the rope over the hook. Kimark was forced upright, arms overhead at an angle that was pure agony on his shoulder joints, the length of his body exposed to the whip and the only thing keeping his full weight off his shoulders was to stretch to his fullest to get some support on his pede-tips.

The almost fully exposed protoform trembled before Wing's cold optics, and not just in pain and energon loss. To a warrior, especially one with a history such as Kimark's, being stripped of his armor was psychologically far worse than pain. Pain he had long learned to cope with and fight through. The vulnerability of exposed protoform went deeper than core coding. It was as old and instinctive as their race.

To be exposed was to die.

A low whimper escaped Kimark's throat when the whip cracked against the back of his knee joints, causing them to buckle and the full force of his drop to tear into already strained shoulder joints.

Sparks flew from Kimark's mistreated shoulders, falling into the puddles of energon and coolant staining the floor. Some bounced off of Wing's chassis as the jet came forward to rip off Kimark's chestplate, clinically regarding underlying machinery. The whip cracked one, twice, three times, delivering precise strikes to the exposed systems, shattering one circuit board.

This time Kimark screamed, his entire existence narrowed to protecting his easily damaged spark chamber. Fear, abet muted by facing death so often flared brightly in his field as he struggled to blindly twist away from Wing and the whip.

The spark chamber was the only part of Kimark more or less safe from the lash of the whip, though Wing made a point of striking at systems close to it. He struck across Kimark's knee joints again, and this time something in the other Knight's shoulder _snapped_ as Kimark's full weight dragged on his arms. Wing surveyed the freely-bleeding body twisting against the bindings, then lashed out, landing a very precise and very painful strike right against Kimark's interfacing equipment covers.

Seemingly against the very laws of physics Kimark's protoform lurched off the ground in an effort to escape the strike, but also to strike out against his tormentor with a leg that was only half broken.

Wing sidestepped away from the kick, the whip cracking out. It wrapped around Kimark's ankle and _pulled_. The leg wasn't torn right off, but the joint audibly broke, leaving the leg hanging limp and useless. Hydraulic fluids joined the energon leaking from Kimark's mauled frame.

Snarled cries were torn from Kimark's vocalizer and damaged engine, but instinct and knowledge gleaned from surviving death matches for centuries shifted his frame until the hip joint was set. Still useless for movement, but it would support his weight again as cables and minor transformation sequences locked the mangled joint in place.

Wing stalked in a slow circle around the blind, shredded Knight, regarding him with clinical coldness. The whip lashed out, lacerating circuits and neural lines, shredding delicate wiring and leaving dents in the support structure itself. The tip of the lash curled around Kimark's throat, cracking fully across his vocalizer.

With a yank he through Kimark's balance off and crushed the smaller lines in his neck as the grounder's full protoform weight crashed down on his shoulders, snapping most of the connections. It would have snapped them clean off if it wasn't for the level of special reinforcement he had from gladiator times.

It was still enough to force the mech to briefly loose consciousnesses and go limp, and it kept him limp even as base functions rebooted.

Wing faced the mauled form, golden optics cold and hard, testing Kimark's field. "Are you sorry for what you have done?" he demanded, using the handle of the whip to lift Kimark's chin slightly.

Shattered optic settings faced him and the brutalized vocalizer crackled once before giving out. In Kimark's field was the answer just as clearly; closer, but not yet.

Wing let Kimark's helm fall, stepping back. He regarded the mauled frame for a moment, then brought the whip down across Kimark's thighs, gouging the support structure. The next blow fell across Kimark's midsection, just under his chest. Shoulders, chest, thighs, shins, and even Kimark's scarred helm suffered the kiss of the lash. Circuits and wiring dangled freely, hoses and fluid lines pumping their contents out onto the floor. Even the spark chamber bore a bold scar from the whip just barely skimming it.

That strike forced a strangled scream from Kimark's systems, and would have from his vocalizer if there were any functional part left of it. He recoiled weakly with the last of his strength, protocols demanding he expend every joule of energy, literally working his systems to deactivation, to protect his spark, for without his spark there was no purpose to his frame.

Narrowed golden optics regarded Kimark for a long moment. Then the whip snapped out, delivering precise strikes to the most sensitive parts of Kimark's remaining frame. The bound Knight writhed as much as he could against the blows. Sparks flew from some internal system.

Then he went limp, leaving both Knights with the unpleasant knowledge that after repairs, they'd be at this again.

Wing stepped back, regarding the offline Kimark for a moment before summoning the medics to collect the mangled Knight. The jet stayed out of the way as Kimark was cut down from the hook, his armor gathered, and the whole pile of mecha removed from the chamber to be taken to the medbay.

Once Kimark was out of the room, Wing emerged, heading to one of the small rooms where he would clean up and wait in meditation for Kimark's repairs to be complete.

* * *

><p>"There you are," Drift all but pounced on Axe when he finally tracked the black triple changer when Wing had been out of contact for a full orn and a half.<p>

The black triple changer actually jumped a bit at the unexpected voice. He'd been coming out of the training rooms, having been running through his own exercises. Startling him was probably not the best idea, because the big mech was actually carrying the wicked-looking ax that was his preferred weapon in one hand.

Not that Drift cared, or ever had, for the potential of a violent reaction to his actions or choices.

Blue optics turned in the direction of the voice. "Oh, it's you."

"Who else?" Drift scowled. "What is going on with Wing?"

"Wing is currently overseeing a penance," Axe replied, resting his weapon against one black shoulder. "He's in the lowest levels of the Citadel, where you are not yet permitted to go."

Icy blue optics narrowed, not just at the statement but also at the implication that Wing was firmly out of his reach.

The Pit he was.

"Don't," Axe x-vented with a grumble of his engine. "Wing is sequestered because of what he must do. No one but Dai Atlas, as the leader of the Knights, will have any interaction with him until he has finished his duty and purified himself of the taint of violence against another Knight. Even the medics who will tend to the injuries will not speak to him."

The just made Drift hunch down slightly, every thought, from spark to experience, was screaming at him that Wing should nothing that caused him such ... the thought abruptly cut off. "_Who's_ penance?"

"Kimark," the triple changer replied. "Wing, as his cadre leader, must oversee and deliver the penance upon Kimark himself." Blue optics flickered briefly with amusement as Drift, hinting that Axe had been able to guess where Drift's thoughts had originally been going.

White arms crossed over his chest and Drift glared. "So this is one of those duty and honor things, and you're _letting_ Wing hurt himself to do it."

"It is his duty as leader of the cadre," Axe informed the white mech, meeting that glare. "He told Dai Atlas that he would see to it himself. Kimark could not go unpunished for what he did."

The white mech was still seething about Wing hurting himself over anything, especially something others could do without caring about it. "So what _did_ he do?"

Axe began to walk in the direction of the quarters he and his mate shared, waving for Drift to follow. The big mech slowed his long stride so the white grounder could keep up without having to run. "Apparently Kimark had a mate before their city was razed. She died in the attack. Kimark came across his mate's counterpart here, in the city, and tried to reclaim her. She, however, was already mated. In a jealous rage, Kimark attacked her mate. The mech was very badly injured, and still requires several orns of work to repair."

It didn't take much for Drift to work out what wasn't said. "A civilian. He's quite a fighter, but even an Initiate could have survived long enough for help to arrive. What about her?"

"She has a gladiatorial background. Fought in the Kaon arenas. This universe's Kimark was killed there. When her mate was attacked, she fought Kimark, but he was more intent on tearing her civilian mate limb from limb. Said civilian is a scholar, not a fighter of any kind, and not armored for conflict. The damage is extremely severe." Axe's blue optics met Drift's briefly. "Attacking a civilian, unprovoked, is against our laws."

"Against just about everyone's laws," Drift pointed out. "But what kind of penance requires _Wing_..." his voice drifted off as he realized that wasn't what he wanted to know. "Why is a beating the civilized answer? That's Decepticon logic."

"You will understand when you advance far enough in your training to begin learning the penances and rituals," Axe replied. "Kimark was a gladiator. Pain is the language he understands right at his core. I would expect he has been through this before, probably many times." Axe looked at Drift sidelong. "Wing chose to oversee the penance himself. He could have delegated that duty to Dai Atlas, as leader of the Knights. Or even to you, because it was you who vouched for Kimark and the rest of the cadre when they arrived."

Drift's engine did the cursing for him, knowing full well how stubborn and honor-bound his lover was. It never crossed his mind that if Kimark and the others hadn't already been accepted into the Circle that he'd be the one taking the beating.

He wouldn't have cared even if it did register.

"And what Wing is done," he finally asked quietly. "What then?"

"The penance will be over when Kimark admits, accepts, and understands that what he did was wrong. After it ends, Wing will undergo a penance of his own... Nothing that extreme, I assure you. It will be to purify himself of the taint of violence toward another Knight. Then he will report to Dai Atlas, and after that he will be free to return to you." Reaching his quarters, Axe held the door for Drift to enter, then walked across the room to place his ax in its bracket. "How long it will take, I do not know. Kimark is stubborn."

"I understand his type," Drift admitted, the awareness growing that he'd take at least as many beatings as the former gladiator before things were over. If this was their justice, he knew he'd run afoul of it as often as he did Turmoil.

Axe tilted his helm. "Penance that extreme is only warranted by the most severe crimes. Try not to maul any civilians, please."

"I highly doubt he was planning on doing so," Drift pointed out. "We do have similar backgrounds and temperaments. I'm going to _try_ and behave. So does Kimark. It didn't help him avoid much trouble."

"All Knights spend much of their later Initiate phase and the first couple centuries as a Knight becoming intimately familiar with penance," Axe admitted, motioning Drift to take a seat before he went to fetch a couple cubes of good high-grade grounder energon. Strong enough to give Drift a good buzz and relax him, weak enough for Axe to barely notice it. "It's rather like the mechling phase," he paused at Drift's expression as he handed the energon to him. "My apologies."

"Doesn't bother me," Drift shrugged, even though it was something of a lie. It didn't _bother_ him, perhaps, but it did hurt to remember how different his upbringing was to what was considered normal. "It's just not a useful comparison."

"Fair enough," Axe agreed as he sat down to sip at his cube. With his own mate in a funk, the least he could do for his creation was to keep Drift from hunting Wing down before Wing was ready for the company. "Most mecha go through a rebellious phase shortly after they finally learn all the rules. When you met, Wing had matured out of the rebelling for rebellings sake, though not out of rebelling when he wanted something. He was still fairly young."

The triple changer paused as he realized he'd just made Drift _think_. He relaxed in his chair and allowed a pleasant silence envelope the room until Drift shifted uneasily.

"I still haven't," Drift murmured as he began to truly doubt if he _could_ be a Knight. "No matter how often Megatron and Turmoil tried to beat it out of me."

"Megatron and Turmoil failed because you did not want to change," Axe pointed out. "Things are different now. You want to change, so penances will work because you want them to."

A slow nod greeted the statement, something Drift accepted as the truth ... because it wanted it true, even if it didn't make much sense to him yet.

Yet.

That was a new word for him, at least in context. Yet was always something applied to plans or others, not to himself.

Was it really just because he was getting older, or was Wing there at the right time to crack his processor set open?

He took a lingering sip of the energon, enjoying the sensation of potent, condensed liquid energy flowing down his intake. He nearly choked when his thoughts went from there to how similar it felt to Wing's transfluid that one time he'd licked his lover clean.

Axe lifted an optic rim at that, but decided not to ask. Settling back, he sipped at his own energon and let Drift find his balance again.

"I know about the bindings, I can guess at what Kimark's facing. What other penances are there?"

Axe took a moment to collect his thoughts before answering that question. "The forms of penance vary depending on the offense. For minor offenses and disobedience it ranges from being stripped of weapons for a set period of time, binding, or being publicly dressed down by Dai Atlas. For more serious offenses... Penances range from a minor public beating to a serious beating in the penance chambers below the Citadel. For the most serious offenses..." The black mech paused, his optics serious. "The beatings can end in permanent deactivation, or ritual suicide. Those are the penances we most hate having to order. Fortunately, it has been a very long time since we have had to. Dai was a bit of a wreck for orns after the last time."

"Is Kimark coming back?" Drift suddenly asked, more focused on Wing's fate at doing such a thing to a mech he'd survived next to for so long. It made Dai Atlas' absent make sense too.

"Kimark will be fine," Axe replied. "Once he accepts that what he did was wrong, his penance will end, he will be repaired, and hopefully he will have learned his lesson. Dai is understandably reluctant to hand out a death sentence unless he absolutely has to."

"Which means something more deliberate than a reactionary lashing out," Drift murmured. "Probably if he'd gone on a mission and came home to _his_ Firefall to that ... I'd hope the penance would be less."

All Drift could think about was if it was that situation with himself and Wing. He knew he'd kill without hesitation to have Wing back, and he dearly hoped Wing would be willing to fight to get him back. To be executed for that seemed ... wrong.

"Kimark wanted to kill her mate to reclaim her. That she wanted nothing to do with Kimark apparently meant nothing to him." Axe shifted slightly.

Icy blue optics lifted to meet slightly deeper blue. "If Wing said that, I wouldn't believe it either. Especially not with how much these cities _do_ have in common. He shouldn't have tried to kill the mech, but I can't fault his logic either. 'Something was done to her' makes more _sense_ than 'I'm the only one who isn't real here.'"

The black mech leaned forward. "While I do understand where Kimark was coming from, he should not have let jealousy and rage take him over as he did."

"No, he shouldn't," Drift agreed. "I have to wonder how many Knights _have_ that much self-control though."

"Probably the reason half don't leave the Citadel unless physically ejected for a while," Axe commented. "The other half knows better, and try their best to save their frustration for the sparring rooms."

"Would you?" Drift cocked his helm, simply curious at the moment. "Or Dai? His temper's as bad as mine when he's threatened."

"Dai has had a lot of practice at controlling his temper," Axe answered. "And when he lets off steam it usually lands both of us in the medical bay."

That raised an optic ridge. "So punching me fell under..."

"The first time I've seen him really lose his temper in public in a while," was the calm reply. "You should've seen him after I dragged him somewhere private. It had been a long time since I've seen him lose it like that."

"Deadlock had that affect on people," Drift chuckled weakly. "What did it take to settle him?"

Axe snorted. "Let's just say that Redline threatened to rebuild us as something utterly ridiculous if we ended up mauling each other that badly again. He had to have entirely new sets of armor made for us."

"So _that's_ why my alterations got delayed," Drift blinked suddenly. "Seriously, I think all medics have a class in creative cursing and how to threaten. You should _listen_ to the Autobot CMO."

The triple changer chuckled. "It would not surprise me. Redline has an impressive vocabulary of rude things to say about Dai and myself every time we haul ourselves in for repairs."

"If he can out-curse me, I'll be surprised," Drift snickered. "Still, at least he doesn't go through with any of those threats."

One dark finger pointed in Drift's direction. "No cursing contests with the medics, please. And thank Primus for small favors... I much prefer my current alt modes."

"Never piss of a mech designation Hook, or he'll turn you over to his gestalt," Drift said, half serious, half as a joke at the sheer improbability of it. "Scrapper gets off on doing that, big time. Come to think of it, I don't think they _have_ any real medics. Just engineers and self-taught field repair. Only time I ever let one touch me was when I'd taken enough damage to be in stasis."

"I'll keep that in mind," Axe replied, letting out an amused hum. While he didn't let it show, it made his creator and Knight socialization protocols buzz in delight that Drift was _offering_ information about himself so casually. It hadn't been like that last time.

"What is Dai up to, anyway?" Drift glanced at the berthroom door.

"To tell the truth, I'm not entirely sure what's gotten his thrusters in a knot this time." Axe glanced over toward the door. "He's in a mood. Even I'm keeping my distance."

"If it's having second thoughts about me, I hope he gets over them," Drift murmured over his cube. "I'm not giving Wing up for anything."

Axe shook his head. "It's not that. He's been doing this off and on since before we built this city. Besides, he's well aware that I'd have his skidplate if he tried anything with you and Wing."

"Thanks," Drift actually _smiled_. "Your approval means a lot to Wing."

The black mech returned the smile. "You and Wing are a fine pair. Dai will come around eventually; he's just getting overprotective of Wing."

"I can't blame him much, given _my_ reactions towards any threat to Wing," Drift smiled a little in memories. "He's been through a _lot_."

* * *

><p>Wing paused in front of the penance room door, shaking himself slightly. He ignored the mechs who were leaving, having brought Kimark back from the medical bay, and they ignored him in turn. After taking a moment to get himself back into the proper frame of mind, Wing entered the room.<p>

Kimark was once again bound, entwined red and black cords wrapped around his wrists. Rather than being positioned on the floor, his wrists had been reattached to the hook on the ceiling.

The jet walked over to the bound grounder, circling him once before reaching up to bring Kimark out of stasis.

Rich purple optics lit slowly, the boot sequence from such deep medical stasis and repair one of enforced care.

The white jet was standing right in front of Kimark, his face a mask, golden optics as cold and hard as they had been before. Wing's arms were crossed over his chest, regarding Kimark with that icy coldness.

Silence reigned, broken only by Wing's near-silent systems and Kimark's heavier ones as they finished powering up. Gradually coherency returned to Kimark's gaze, then understanding, then regret.

"I am sorry, Wing," he whispered, his tone matching his field and the honesty of his words. "We are not done."

"I did not think we were," was the flat, cold response. Wing turned, heading over to the cabinet. He could feel Kimark's optics on him, watching to see what he would take up this time.

Wing surveyed the instruments available to him, then picked up a stun baton, turning to face Kimark with the baton clearly visible in his hand.

Optics brightened in recognition, and the deep maroon Knight nodded, but held silent. He flared his armor out, offering himself to the pain and near-deactivation he _knew_ could cleanse him, if he had the strength to allow it.

The jet didn't say a word. He looked at Kimark silently for a moment, then brought the baton down hard across the maroon Knight's stomach plating. Electricity crackled over the damaged plating as Wing skimmed the tip over Kimark's torso, drawing back for another blow before the keens of pain had even begun to die down.

Kimark's frame thrashed and jerked, reflexes out of his control while the electricity poured through him. Yet once it cleared, he stilled and stretched, offering himself up for more.

The second blow, delivered right on top of the first, buckled the armor plating enough to expose the underlying machinery. Raw electricity crackled along Kimark's neural lines, burning through his sensor net. Sparks hissed as they popped out of a nearby seam.

The Knight bellowed a scream of raw agony, reveling in the pain as it burned away more than physical connections.

Most would never fully grasp the pleasure that this kind of purifying pain could be, not even many of the Knights. Only those who spoke this as their spark's language felt the freedom of it in full.

By the sixth blow, Kimark was lost somewhere between rapture and agony in a universe all his own.

Wing's expression remained totally neutral as he circled Kimark, bringing the baton down across one thigh hard enough to dent the support structures. One hard blow to the side of Kimark's helm had shattered the optic on that side, letting the electricity right into the delicate circuitry and causing fountains of sparks to fly from pretty much every seam of the maroon Knight's helm. The other optic had burst from the charge ripping through its delicate internals, and smoke had fountained from Kimark's mouth.

Vocalizer long since turned to molten slag, Kimark could only writhe, his engine screaming for him. Yet his field told the story clearly as the agony burned away his rage, his emotional pain, even consumed the fire that drove him to possess Firefall.

He would always love her, but his claim on her was incinerated in the pyre of his dyeing frame.

"Are you sorry for what you have done?" Wing asked, pausing, his golden optics narrowing as he tested the maroon mech's field. One of Kimark's legs was so badly beaten out of shape it would not support his weight, and most of his torso plating was buckled or shattered. Energon ran down his body, creating new pools and smears on the floor.

Unable to speak, or even nod, the answer was in his field. Yes, relief, regret. The _correct_ regret.

Wing immediately lowered the baton, stepping back. Deactivating the baton and returning it to the cabinet, he called for the medics to come and collect Kimark.

He waited only long enough to be sure they were physically close before slipping from the room.

Now it was his turn to be purified.

* * *

><p>Block, parry, strike, repeat. It was a beautiful dance, one that stunned every audience outside this city who witnessed Drift perform. Here, though, Drift was the weakest performer and those watching were his betters. At the moment Drift didn't care. He knew his opponent could take anything he did and it gave him a rare freedom to vent through violence without caring about his target.<p>

Going on four orns Wing had been gone and Drift couldn't concentrate on his training anymore. So he'd jumped at the chance to spar when one of Wing's good friends had hunted him down and asked.

At some point another mech joined the crowd, making his way through the group to the front. The newcomer's armor was a rich blue, and he towered over everyone else. Stopping on the edge of the sparring ring, Dai Atlas waited to get Drift's attention. It was delivered quickly when Flashfire noted the arrival and made short work of ending the match.

When Drift looked up incredulously the Seeker simply flicked a wing towards their leader.

Dai Atlas inclined his helm at Flashfire, walking over to Drift as the watchers began to disperse. Ruby optics met blue, evaluating Drift for a moment before the big triple changer spoke.

"Kimark's penance is over," Dai Atlas rumbled, noting that Drift's expression went from annoyed to focused as the white Initiate stood. "Wing must undergo his own." He paused for a moment. "You are permitted to be with him for his penance."

"Where?" It was all Drift wanted to know. All he needed to know. Whatever Wing needed, he would provide.

"The penance rooms below the Citadel. I will show you." Dai Atlas tilted his helm toward the door. Drift was at his side, silent, distress and determination in his tightly held field as they walked.

Icy blue optics took in everything, especially the new parts of the Citadel as they entered the space below the meeting chamber.

Dai Atlas had shortened his long stride so that Drift could keep up with him, watching from the corner of one optic as Drift took in the parts of the Citadel he had never seen before. There was no one else in sight, most of the rooms clearly empty.

"Have you overseen a binding before?" Dai Atlas asked quietly.

"A few," Drift nodded fractionally. "He didn't say it was penance."

"They might not have been," he said before stopping in front of one chamber. "Bindings are used to gain insight and understanding more often than as punishment." He opened the door to reveal Wing already inside.

It took all of Drift's self control not to rush in and embrace his mate; not even he was sure how he managed to nod to Dai Atlas and walk into the space room with a bracket for a Great Sword on one wall and a simple platform berth against the other.

Carrying a spool of the traditional white cord for purifying, Dai Atlas followed Drift inside, watching for a moment. Red optics moved from the grounder to the jet as Drift took in his mate's state, then moved forward with a fast stride to pull Wing tightly against him.

Drift field reached out, understanding and acceptance, support and willingness wrapping around Wing in an embrace he needed even more than the physical touch.

Wing leaned into Drift, turning to bury his face against Drift's neck. The ragged edge of his field, expressing how much he had hated what he'd had to do, began to smooth out, wrapping around Drift's. The jet badly needed that support right now.

Dai Atlas stayed back, watching for a long moment, giving the pair some time. This was not a penance of punishment where such comfort should be chased away. Then he shifted his weight, wings rustling. "Whenever you are ready, Wing."

Reluctantly Drift let go when Wing began to move. He remained silent, but his field said it all; anything you need.

Wing rested his forehelm against Drift's for a long moment, golden optics meeting Drift's blue, before pulling away entirely. Turning, the jet faced Dai Atlas. "I am ready."

Drift watched, icy optics sharp and focused as Dai Atlas bound his creation's wrists in an intricate knot work that took vorns to perfect learning how to do.

Dai Atlas tilted his helm toward Drift, fingers flicking at part of the knot. "You will be with him through the whole thing... When the time comes, simply pull on this lead and the knot will come undone. Wing will let you know when he is ready." The blue mech waited for Drift's nod of acknowledgement before straightening, letting go of Wing.

The white jet nodded to his creator, and backed against his Great Sword in its vertical brace on the wall. He hooked the binding over the hilt and sank to his knees in a move that always made Drift wince to watch, knowing full well how painful it would be after a couple joors, much less the orn or two this was likely to be.

After Wing's optics turned off, sequestering the Knight in his processors and pain, Dai Atlas offered Drift several cubes of energon, both grounder and jet midgrade. They were accepted and subspaced with a nod, and Dai Atlas was gone.

With a shiver Drift sank to his knees in the center of the small room, close enough to Wing to feel if the jet reached out for him, and settled in to meditate through as much of the penance as he could.

* * *

><p>Two orns after being bound and settling into place, two orns of pain and wrestling with inner demons, Wing's ragged field eased out to brush against Drift's, drawing the grounder's attention to him. Golden optics were finally warming up as the jet came out of his trance state and Drift was already kneeling in front of him.<p>

Uncertain what to say, if anything, Drift simply wrapped his field around Wing, full of respect, understanding and love for the jet. One hand reached up to tug the binding loose while his frame and free arm were ready to catch his love as Wing collapsed forward.

The white jet's hands were cold from lack of energon. He let out a soft mew as his arms finally came out of that torturous position. Wing wobbled, then collapsed into Drift's arms, body trembling from the pain he had endured. His wings drooped out of their tight tuck, tips scraping the floor. Wing's ragged field flowed into Drift's, mingling, the harsh edges of pain beginning to smooth out.

"You're safe," Drift finally said the only thing he could think of, what _he'd_ need to hear the most after such torture. His hands moved lightly, stroking to comfort and encourage energon flow to places that were graying from lack.

Wing murmured something unintelligible, almost burrowing into Drift, curling into his warmth. One wing managed to pull back up into its normal position, the other twitching, not quite managing it. Greyed black fingers twitched jerkily as power began returning to the energy-deprived extremities, scraping against Drift's plating.

A strong, steady black hand reached back to stroke the wing, kneading the joint while the other arm held Wing close, physically reassuring the jet that Drift was there to support him.

A raspy purr answered the touch on his wings, the twitching appendage relaxing into Drift's hand. It was enough to make Drift shift slightly so he could use both hands, one working each wing and wing joint. Wing curled into Drift as much as he could, needing the contact, craving the touch. He would need energon, too, but for the moment he just needed to be held and Drift was more than willing to hold him as long as he wanted it.

"Missed you, love," Drift murmured, not expecting or needed a verbal reply. He simply needed to say it.

"Mmmmmm," was the response, Wing tucking his helm under Drift's chin, snuggling into his chest. White wings relaxed into Drift's hands as full energon flow returned to them. They tucked in where they belonged without difficulty this time.

A strong, steady arm move to hold Wing close while the other gently caught one of Wing's hands and began to massage it.

Stiff fingers slowly stretched into Drift's touch, disuse and lack of power having caused the joints to lock up. They were slowly unlocking as power returned, though the grey was only just beginning to return to a healthy color. Wing purred, shifting to free his hand from where he'd pressed them against Drift's warm chest.

With the soft sound, Drift tilted his helm, seeking a kiss without actually touching.

There was a rough chirr from Wing, the jet lifting his helm, optics half-lidded, tilting his helm to brush his lips against Drift's, parting his lip plates suggestively. A glossa brushed against them before the kiss became a firm, though undemanding one. Even Drift's glossa stroking the inside of Wing's mouth was seeking rather than demanding.

Wing hummed into the kiss, returning it, his glossa sliding against Drift's. His body language was sliding from "in pain" to "contented".

"Good," Drift murmured, shifting his hands to massaging Wing's other hand to a healthy glossy black. He slid forward for another kiss, then began licking kisses along Wing's jaw to his neck.

Wing tilted his helm, exposing his throat to his lover, a purring moan escaping his vocalizer. He pawed lightly at Drift with his free hand, almost rubbing against the white grounder's armor. It was enough for Drift's field to flare with arousal, with desire for his lover, and one hand to shift attention to stroking Wing's back where the Great Sword typically rested.

The jet chirred, tilting his helm to press light kisses over Drift's forehelm, glossa lightly tracing his gold crest, working his way up the closer finial. One wing flared out to expose the rarely-touched, sensitive metal underneath. Without hesitation Drift reached to stroke it, knowing well enough how to make Wing moan.

If a creature made of alloys and circuits could be said to melt into a puddle of goo, that's what Wing did, leaning into the touch. The soft chirr turned into a humming, soft coos occasionally added.

As much as Drift appreciated a snuggly, chirring Wing, it was maddening as his interface systems activated and began to demand attention. His mouth found the jet's as he tried to placate his desires with kissing, allowing his hands and frame to indulge in the less sensual demands of his lover's frame.

Wing shifted on Drift's lap, one knee nudging against Drift's thigh as the jet returned the kiss, purring into it. Without hesitation Drift spread his knees, offering himself in a way he rarely did to anyone. As one of Wing's hands was actively exploring Drift's frame, the other shook the last of the kinks out then lifted to rest on Drift's spaulder. As their kiss broke Drift's field flared hot and bright to Wing's sensors and the grounder tipped his helm back, offering absolute submission in exchange for the contact he desired most.

Black fingers slid into the seams of Drift's spaulders, feeling for those sensors he had discovered before as he eased Drift down onto his back, burying his face against Drift's throat. He sucked lightly on an energon line, one hand sliding down the white grounder's side and over his pelvic frame to his interface hatch. Both of them slid open at the first touch, the heat radiating from both giving no doubt that Drift was ready and willing for anything Wing desired of him.

Wing's fingertip traced the rim of Drift's valve, teasing the sensors along the edge. Slowly, teasingly, one finger slid inside, finding one of the sensor nodes already coated in a slick layer of lubricant.

A moan and shiver escaped Drift as his hips rocked into the contact, assuring Wing that patience wasn't required this time. He was ready. Almost eager.

Wing sidled closer, his spike pressurizing, golden optics meeting Drift's blue. He withdrew his finger, making a show of licking the lubricant off before sheathing himself in one smooth thrust.

A deep moan rumbled up from Drift. His hips rocked hard into the thrust as his valve rippled and squeezed, welcoming the only lover he wanted inside him.

Wing let out a deep moan, his body shuddering over Drift's, leaning down to capture Drift's lips in a kiss. He tilted his hips, shifting his spike in Drift's valve, rubbing it against another set of nodes.

A sob of pleasure escaped Drift into Wing's mouth as their pelvic structures rocked and thrust, the charge building with every movement, every rub of lubricant buffered metal on metal. Drift's filed wrapped around Wing as his legs did, drawing the jet tighter against him and saturating the pair in building ecstasy.

Tilting his helm, Wing turned his attention to Drift's throat, nipping and licking along the cables, sucking lightly at a control cable. He began to thrust into Drift's valve, starting slowly but quickly picking up the pace until the grounder was writhing under him, lost to anything but the pleasure and connection of the moment.

"Wing!" Drift's voice echoed in the small room as his frame tried to lock up, right on the verge of a powerful overload.

"Drift!" Wing's back arched, driving his spike in as deep as it could go, his own overload breaking over him like a tidal wave in nearly the same moment as Drift's hit.

Optics whited out as their frames quivered in the short-created lock for a blissful klik before gradually relaxing.


	12. When a Student Excels

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>:  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 mech/mech  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Sticky  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

* * *

><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 12: When a Student Excels<strong>

* * *

><p>Fifty-three vorns, six metacycles and a decaorn Drift had submitted himself to the humiliation that was Initiate training under Dai Atlas and Axe. He'd yet to be taught a single kata for the Great Sword he'd been bonded with for centuries. But last decaorn he'd nearly scored a hit on Axe with the practice short sword, and even though he came out of every orn's training exhausted, <em>that<em> had left him jazzed well into the night.

Wing had enjoyed both the story and the excitement immensely, and indulged Drift in many amusing stories between interfacing.

This particular orn it was Dai Atlas who was facing Drift, the blue mech's ruby optics narrowed with concentration, his swords weaving an intricate pattern in the air as they set up for another match, the ninth of eleven for the orn. Axe was leaning against the wall, along with a few other Knights, watching. Most of Wing's cadre was there, including Marwir, sneer still in place, and Wing, who offered his mate a blinding smile of support before Drift had to focus fully on what he was doing. The small gather's members had changed over the length of the orn, but there were always a few.

It wasn't a question of whether Drift was hit each orn. Even a best case would have him leave with nearly as much blue on his frame as white, something that was almost true right now. The question was whether he would _finally_ manage, after so many vorns of trying, to land a single glancing blow against Dai Atlas. He could usually manage one or two on Wing, though he'd be streaked with a dozen lines of gold in the processes.

With a centering moment, he cycled his systems to combat readiness and settled into a defensive stance.

The Knight leader regarded him for a moment, helm cocked to the side ever so slightly. For such a big mech, he was amazingly fast and agile. On a bad orn sparring with him was like trying to hit smoke. Even on the good orns it was rather like trying to keep up with Blurr.

Icy blue optics remained open and frame relaxed. Drift had long since been beaten out of much pride here. Only determination to master the forms was left.

With no warning, Dai Atlas was moving, barely making a sound, his blades flashing. As was expected now, Drift managed to block the first strike, parry the second and third and ducked into a roll to avoid the fourth.

He came to his pedes and drove for a low cut, though his primary focus was on making it a few more exchanges without blue paint on his plating.

Dai Atlas's blade came within millimeters of Drift's spaulder. Drift had just avoided his first blue streak of the match. One of those times that Dai Atlas's sheer height worked briefly against him.

The opening was almost too much of a surprise, but Drift darted forward with a body block that he knew wouldn't do much against the giant triple changer, but would be enough of an unexpected move to get him close enough for a strike.

One practice blade lashed out again the hip near optic level while the other slashed at and connected with the inside of a blue thigh.

Dai Atlas stopped, blinking. He took a step back, looking down to inspect his leg. After a moment he turned to show off the line of yellow paint showing boldly against his deep blue thigh.

There was a brief silence from the audience. Wing's smile was nearly blinding and Drift soaked that in as a starving mecha would absorb radiation.

Red optics turned to the white grounder. A moment later a smile appeared on Dai Atlas' otherwise impassive face. "Well done."

Even after all this time, Drift only then relaxed. It was painfully clear he wasn't entirely sure what he'd get for finally managing the strike; praise or a real beating. Still, he somehow managed not to stumble over the response that while ritual, was also honest in his respect for his teachers, official and otherwise.

"I learned from the best."

Dai Atlas shifted one sword to the other hand, reaching over to give Drift an approving clap on the shoulder. Coming from such a big mech, it almost staggered the white grounder. The smile showed considerable pride.

After the final match, rather than setting Drift to working on his katas for another few joors, Dai Atlas stretched out a wing, nudging Drift toward the edge of the sparring ring. "This time, I'll let you out early." The big mech smiled proudly down at the white grounder. "You did very well."

Wing bounced over, optics glowing a bright golden, catching hold of the least blue part of Drift's arm he could find and tugged. "Quick, before he changes his processor," the jet stage-whispered with a glazing grin.

"Thank you," Drift managed before allowing Wing to pull him away.

The blue mech snorted, miming an affectionate swat at the white jet. Wing ducked easily, dancing out of range as he dragged Drift out the door.

"So what kind of celebration do you have in mind?" Drift grinned at his mate.

Wing grinned. "I know where to get the best energon sweets, and some really good high grade." His wings fluttered. "You just landed your first hit, and on _Dai Atlas_."

Drift's engine rumbled into a purr, deep, resonant and purr of seductive pride. "It was bound to happen," he verbally brushed it off even as his field crackled with the growing realization of the accomplishment.

"It took me _forever_ to land my first hit on him, and he's my creator," Wing replied. "I got Axe more than I got Dai Atlas. To hit him before landing a hit on Axe is quite an accomplishment."

"Or some serious luck," Drift countered, still playful. "He left himself _wide_ open for a nanoklik."

Wing laughed. "That's what he gets for sparring with Axe almost all the time... He needs more time sparring against smaller mechs. We might not have his height or bulk, but we small mechs can be very sneaky." A gold optic winked cheekily.

"And we're faster than he expects," Drift laughed easily, catching Wing for a lingering kiss before letting him go to lead the way to the goodies that would fuel their celebration. "What do you think of seeing how he fairs against us both sometime?"

It wouldn't occur to Drift for some time how easily he laughed now.

Golden optics brightened at that. "I would love to see him take on the both of us! Between the two of us, we should be able to give him one Pit of a fight." The jet bounced a bit on his pedes, tilting his head to regard the amount of blue paint covering his mate's frame.

"You're going to enjoy getting this off me," Drift deadpanned the demand and promise.

The smile widened, optics sparkling. "I know I am," he purred in response as he tugged his love towards the Citadel's main gate.

The sight made Drift baulk slightly, then he shrugged to himself. It wasn't as if his training was a secret. He was marked as an Initiate. No one should be surprised that his trainers regularly mopped the floor with him.

The only residents of the city who gave Drift any odd looks were the youngest, who rarely saw Initiates of the Circle. The older mechs and femmes had seen many young Knights-to-be covered in paint from their training sessions, and barely gave the normally white mech a glance as he was half-dragged, half-led by the beaming Knight with flawless paint. Really, most were more curious about the jet that wasn't flying, but the why there was readily apparent.

By the time they reached a small shop on the edge of one of the city's larger crystal gardens Drift had completely relaxed at being in public and showing his training status.

"Wing! It's good to see you," an older mecha of rich browns and swirled with a sandy tan that sparkled showed clear delight at seeing the jet. "What are we celebrating, to drag your mate out without cleaning him up first?"

"Windstorm!" Wing freed one hand to wave. "Drift scored his first hit in his training, and against Dai Atlas himself!" He quickly dragged Drift over to the table the other mech occupied, pushing the usually white mech into a chair.

"Good work," Windstorm reached over to thump Drift's forearm. "That's quite an achievement at your age."

Drift snorted but didn't actually object. His attention was on Wing, and taking in the delicious smells of so many varieties of energon and confections. High grade strong enough to drop him was easy to come by in the Citadel, after all, it was the standard grade for the higher performance frames, and the Knights had many fliers. But _crafted_ energon was very much a treat he rarely afforded himself.

The white jet snuck a quick kiss, humming happily, before bouncing over to the counter. He returned with cubes of jet and grounder high grade, as well as a tray piled high with exquisitely-crafted energon confections in pretty much every color of the spectrum. Even some high-grade jellies that were vanishingly rare outside of the city, and even occasionally hard to come by in the city.

Drift's icy blue optics flashed in bright surprise, locking onto the jellies before darkening with a desire that more than bordered on sensual.

Wing winked at him as he placed the tray on the table, passing out the beverages. "Don't eat them all at once," he purred to Drift, startling the mech slightly.

"I don't plan to eat them alone either," Drift purred back, his flied reaching out to lick at Wing's, sharing the memory and context of the last time he saw a jelly. In a move that even a decade before would have been unthinkable, Drift picked one of the delicate jellies and gently pressed it against Wing's lip plates.

White lip plates parted, daintily accepting the jelly. The tip of his glossa flicked against Drift's fingers, the white jet purring softly. Wing's optics glowed warmly at the show of generosity, but also of a trust that had taken his Drift centuries to achieve. It was a trust that there would be _more_, trust that giving did not take away from himself.

It was a lesson that was nearly instinctive for Wing, it was simply part of his nature. Yet he knew many Knights that struggled with the concept long after their Initiate training. Perhaps next decaorn Drift wouldn't share as readily, but to Wing, it was a nearly unimaginably large leap for his mate.

Wing made a show of savoring the treat, then leaned over and snuck a kiss, sharing the jelly with his mate. Neither noticed the amused look from Windstorm or the occasional glances from other patrons of the shop.

"There are other kinds of confections here you haven't tried yet," Wing purred as he broke the kiss. One golden optic winked. "And all the leftovers we can take back with us, for later."

"Any that really need to be savored fresh?" Drift asked, one finger leaving a faint trail of blue down Wing's chest, directly over the seam.

Wing contemplated the pile for a moment before picking out a sparkling white confection, exquisitely carved, and offered it to his blue-paint-covered mate. "This is one that is as its very best when fresh," he purred.

Drift delicately licked it, just barely sliding his glossa against Wing's fingers, before he leaned forward to take the delicacy into his mouth, along with two of Wing's fingers. His glossa caressed the digits before plucking the treat from them.

The blue-streaked frame shivered in ecstasy as he slowly melted in his mouth, the crisp exterior breaking at calculated points to drip its potent high-grade center on Drift's glossa a bit at a time.

Wing purred, his optics fixed on Drift's lips. One fingertip glided slowly over Drift's lower lip plate after it was released. A moment later the white mech grinned, fishing out another kind of confection and a container of light, sweet oil from the pile. The look in his optics hinted that the oil was going to have more than one use once they got back to their quarters.

While Drift remained silent, visibly _savoring_ the confection with a patience that he simply hadn't possessed a few vorns before, his field vibrated eagerly in reply. Drawing on an ancient memory and a sense of what was best from Too Pure For This World, Drift selected a confection cube of rich purple and blue. He offered it to Wing's lips, watching with a new kind of fascination for the activity.

Wing tilted his helm, pressing his lips to the base of Drift's thumb, sliding them along the digit until he reached the offered confection, his glossa flirting with the pads of Drift's fingertips before delicately taking the confection, purring softly at the rich flavor.

Golden optics gleamed. Wing picked up one of the high-grade jellies, dipping it into the light oil before presenting it to his mate. The jelly combined with the oil was pretty much guaranteed to make any mech melt from the sheer bliss.

Drift, contrary mecha that he was, _vibrated_ in a respectable imitation of his mate in a good mood. With a low, passionate moan Drift leaned forward to pull Wing against him in a kiss, ending up all but in the jet's lap to give his hands access to folded wings.

Wing let out a low, throaty moan of his own, pulling Drift closer, his wings opening slightly from where they folded tight to his back, loosening enough to give Drift better access. The normally white mech's lips tasted of oil and the sweet confections, and Wing purred into the kiss.

Across the table, Windstorm watched appreciatively, collecting a smile pile of the confections he preferred from the pile, knowing the rest would be taken back to the Citadel with the pair once someone asked them to get a room. Twitching his own wings, Windstorm shifted, his optics fixed on the show. He sure wasn't going to be the one to interrupt them. Wing had always been sensuality personified, and from the look of things his mate was a mecha of hot passions.

Black fingers traced with blue found their way into wing joints as the confection was shared in a passionate kiss that didn't seem to end.

A soft whine came from Drift, a quiet plea for more.

Wing's wings flared out, twitching eagerly. His nacelles hummed with power. At this rate no one was going to have to tell them to get a room; the jet was very tempted to subspace the tray of confections (he'd bring the tray back later), wrap his arms around his mate, and fly them back to the Citadel and their quarters.

The jet's purr increased in volume while deepening in pitch, his field licking at his mate's, glossa gliding against Drift's. The grounder shivered in pleasure and moaned into the kiss shamelessly. His fingers dug into wing joints, stroking and pressing while his hips rocked lightly against Wing's.

The kiss suddenly broke and Drift's helm ducked down so he could suck on a primary control cable.

Wing freed one hand to cover the oil as carefully as he could, subspacing the tray of confections. Nipping gently at his lover's helm and being glad he'd already paid for the tray of sweets, he nudged Drift until the blue-splotched mech awkwardly got to his feet, then wrapped his arms tightly around Drift's frame. Windstorm helpfully steered them outside, stepping back with a grin as Wing's nacelles revved to full power, lifting both mechs off the ground.

The white jet spared enough attention to get himself and his mate safely back to their quarters before giving himself over to Drift's touch. The mixture of shock and pleasure forced him to stagger a step back to find the wall when Drift suddenly dropped to one knee to kiss Wing's spike cover, his field flaring hot with a single clear message: give.

Wing braced himself against the wall, not wanting to fall over on top of his mate. His valve cover promptly slid open, his spike already pressurizing. Reaching down, Wing stroked and caressed the seams of Drift's helm, his fingertips gliding up the sleek, sensitive audial finials to knead the very tips.

With the last bit of processor space he had to spare, he leaned over sideways to un-subspace the tray of treats onto one of the tables dotting the rooms. Better to do it now than forget later, when he had _plans_ for some of those treats.

Then it was all he could do to relish the rare treat of Drift's mouth and glossa on his spike. Soft kisses on the underside on the way up, nibbling licks to the sides on the way down, and fingers teasing the sensor nodes at the base where housing met plating.

Wing's whole body quivered, from pedes to helm crest, wings stretched out to their full span. Golden optics were almost unseeing, half-lidded with utter bliss. His hands glided over Drift's helm and down the back of his neck, the jet leaning forward so that Drift's spaulders were well within reach.

With a knowing smile, Drift lapped a circle around the soft metal head, then lowered his helm so his lips just kissed the tip. His entire field and frame projected what he was about to do, yet he paused right there, his lip plates parted and light gusts of warm air coming out to ghost across the tip of Wing's spike.

Wing's hips jerked, the jet letting out a keening moan. Black fingers tightened briefly on Drift's helm finials, dropping to claw lightly at blue-drenched spaulders. Wing panted heavily, all vents open, trying to cool his systems. He jerked again as Drift hummed and lowered his mouth to fully engulf the head, but went no further down. His glossa snaked around the head, teasing sensor clusters and the slit of a hole transfluid came out of.

Slowly, every so excruciatingly slowly, Drift took in a bit more of the spike with each carefully measured bob of his helm, each time giving himself an opportunity to explore before repeating the cycle.

Wing was writhing against him, doing everything he could to try and hold still. But it was not working. Holding still was not in his nature. Drift's hands grasped Wing's hips, pinning him to the wall. The jet needed the support; his knee joints were wobbling and threatening to give way. His keen never ceased, rising and falling in time to Drift's movements.

The smug pleasure-approval from Drift was nearly as enticing as mouth around his spike ... and then Drift _sucked_ while his lip plates were brushing against the housing.

Wing's keen turned into a near-shriek, his nacelles revving nearly high enough for takeoff as overload crashed through him. His back arched, body locking up briefly, jerking, the current snapping over his frame and jumping off onto Drift while hot, viscous transfluid pumped into the grounder's intake to slide easily down into his primary tank.

A moment later, Wing slumped over, barely managing to catch himself. Steam curled from his vents as his engine purred and nacelles slowly powered down.

Slowly, gently, Drift drew his helm back, licking Wing's spike clean as he went. All his systems were purring except for his spike, which was complaining very loudly about being ignored.

Drift maintained every intention of continuing to ignore it until his mate had recovered enough to be more than a pliant valve. It took a couple of kliks for Wing to get his body to cooperate and find his knee joints again. Straightening, he gave Drift a blinding grin, gently tweaking the tip of one of Drift's audial finials.

A low rumble of approval greeted the action and Drift stood into Wing's embrace and a kiss that left moth their fans picking up speed again.

One audial flare flicked toward the berth suggestively, Wing humming eagerly into the kiss. Shifting slightly, he lifted one leg, trailing the tip of his toeplate along Drift's shin.  
>It was all the encouragement Drift needed. With a needy growl of his engine, the grounder twisted to sweep Wing in his arms and carried him to the berth.<p>

Wing snuggled into Drift's chest, purring, tilting his helm to nip and nuzzle at the white grounder's throat. His turbines were already revving in response, vibrating against Drift's chestplate and responding quickly to the change in pitch Drift's engine gave as his spark chamber was vibrated.

Slender wings spread out for balance, display and to be fondled as Wing was spread out on his back, Drift looming over him with enough arousal in his systems to set off a cadre.

"My mate," Drift growled and he lowered himself over his lover for a kiss. One knee rubbed between Wing's as Drift's spike slid free of its housing.

"Yours," Wing purred in response, eagerly returning the kiss, wrapping his arms around Drift. The jet's legs parted willingly, his valve cover already open, lubricant seeping out to drip onto the berth. His field mingled with Drift's, expressing the white jet's own arousal and his love for Drift.

That emotion, the desire, was almost too much for Drift. His entire frame shuddered as he briefly contemplated changing plans. But the scent of lubricant and his spike's desire for release chased the thoughts away. He'd submitted once already. It was his turn to take.

With a low growl Drift drove his hips forward, sinking into his lover fully, grinding his spike housing against the soft, sensor rich platelets encompassing Wing's valve entrance.

Wing's back arched at the penetration, pressing into contact, his legs wrapping around Drift's waist. Gold optics flared brightly, black fingers hooking into Drift's back armor, pulling him closer. Their mouths met in a fierce exchange of the passion that hadn't dimmed in the least over the decades they'd been together.

Moaning, his engine roaring, Drift allowed his body to go on an autopilot of sorts, driving their pleasure higher fast.

Wing rolled his hips into each thrust, moaning softly. His nacelles revved, matching the roar of Drift's engine. Dark hands clawed lightly at Drift's back before one made its way up to a blue-smeared white spaulder, going straight for the sensitive sensor nodes around the wheel well. The other hand ran down Drift's back to his hip, flirting with the seams there.

Drift's roar became a near-scream as his overclocked and over aroused systems took the stimulation as too much. Strong hands closed around Wing's shoulders as his back arched up, driving his hips flush against Wing's. Each little roll of hips and burst of transfluid along the sensor lined tube in his spike dragged a grunt from him.

Wing's valve tightened around Drift's spike as the grounder's overload triggered the jet's. The jet writhed against Drift, steam rising from his vents and armor seams, curling around Drift's armor as Wing keened, throwing back his helm.

They held there, locked in the blissful embrace as electricity ran rampant in their systems, protocols translating the shorts and jolts as intense pleasure, as was the near-dangerous levels of heat.

Slowly they relaxed, Drift sprawling on top of Wing as they gasped for enough air to cool their systems. Armor clicked and popped as it cooled and settled back into place.

"Love you," Drift mumbled, nuzzling Wing's throat.

Wing was purring contentedly, his nacelles settling back to a lazy idle. Warm, half-lidded golden optics watched Drift, one hand gently stroking Drift's back.

"Love you, too," the jet replied softly.


	13. Difficult Choices

**Note from the author: **Folks, please remember to be logged in when leaving comments *and* have private messaging enabled. Otherwise, I can't reply to your comments. If you haven't heard back from me, it's because I couldn't reply.

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>:  
><strong>Rating<strong>: R for Violence  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Ritualized Violence  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

* * *

><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 13: Difficult Choices<strong>

* * *

><p>Axe sipped his evening energon, content to watch his mate brood in their quarters for the time being. He knew exactly what was bothering the larger triple changer, and it had been tumbling around his processors for vorns as well. For most, this was the most difficult of lesson before their Knighthood trials. It was difficult for all involved.<p>

With Drift, it was even worse than most. They'd adopted every Initiate on some level; their Order was too small not to be closely bound. Not a single Knight was more removed from Dai Atlas than a single generation. They were all either his students, or the student of his student. It had gone no further, and would not for many millennia yet.

But Drift ... volatile, obstinate, the perfect example of all that had been wrong with Cybertron, of all that was _not_ a Knight, was as much their creation as the spark they had called from the Circle of Swords. Contemplating this lesson for him _hurt_.

The blue mech was pacing restlessly off to one side, wings twitching on his back, echoing his thoughts. He _knew_ what had to be done, but that did not make it any easier. Nor was it any easier to figure out _how_ to go about it.

Before they chose to try and speak to work it now, a comm pinged them both from the control room.

Talon's voice spoke, a trace of excitement in it. ::There is an incoming ship, transponder indicates it's Titanium.::

_That_ got Dai Atlas' attention. The blue mech stopped pacing, helm coming up in surprise. "Titanium? I haven't seen him in a very long time. Not since long before we left Cybertron to settle here."

"I remember him," Axe grinned at his mate. ::Is he requesting an approach, or passing through?::

::Passing through, but I can ping him,:: Talon offered, wanting to see the local version of the mech that had been as close to a friend his cadre had before.

::Ping him.:: This time the flutter of long wings was with anticipation. ::He was a good friend of mine from a long time ago, and a fellow swordsmech. I would like to see him again.::

::He was a good ally to my cadre ... before,:: Talon added, politely saying that the leader wasn't going to be the only Knight who would want time with the ancient swordsmech. ::Pinging him now. Patching through to you.::

Dai Atlas waited patiently for the connection to be made, the vanes on his wingtips twitching. Finally, he heard a familiar voice through the comm.

::This is the Autobot shuttle Stellar Wind, Titanium speaking.:: Curiosity threaded through the voice.

::Nice to hear your voice again, old friend,:: Dai Atlas responded.

There was a moment of astonished silence. ::Dai Atlas? Is that _you_?::

Axe's low chuckle added to the line. ::Not just Little Blue.::

Dai Atlas made an indignant sound while Titanium laughed. ::Been a long time since I've heard anything from or about either of you. So this is where you two have been holed up all this time?::

::Yes, this is where we've been,:: Dai Atlas replied. ::We would be delighted if you'd drop by. Catch up on old times.::

::I'd be glad to,:: the other swordsmech replied.

::We have _so_ much to catch up on, and we aren't the only ones here eager to see you,:: Axe added.

The blue triple changer transmitted the coordinates. Titanium acknowledged, turning his ship in their direction.

"Two joors," Axe's frame quivered in excitement. "It's been _so_ long."

Dai Atlas's wings were partly flared out, the blue triple changer's earlier internal conflict neatly sidetracked for the moment. He was as eager to see his old friend as his mate was.

"So," Axe stepped up behind him, pressing their frames flush. "Shall we invite Wing and his cadre, or keep him to ourselves for the orn?"

Dai Atlas hummed for a moment. "Let's invite the others. Talon did indicate that the cadre knew Titan from their universe, and they too would like to see him again." He snuck a kiss, purring softly. "We can corner him ourselves later."

* * *

><p>Stepping out of his ship, Titanium tilted his helm back to look at the city, letting out a low whistle. It had been a long time since he'd seen anything like it, and it was impressive.<p>

"Wow," his noticeably smaller golden-armored mate murmured, joining him.

"I completely agree," the purple and silver triple changer murmured back, his red optics settling on the group waiting for them, alighting on two familiar shapes. "Axe! Little Blue! Long time no see!"

There was a groan from the blue mech in question. "I distinctly remember telling you to stop calling me that!"

There were snickers from several mecha, but the brightest grin came from a small, elegant white jet of Ankmorian design and the Crystal City Rotor's airfoil tines that were literally vibrating. They all remained politely back, waiting for their elders, but it was blindingly obvious that it was a tenuous control at best.

"As if we ever listen," Axe snickered, his optics landing on the bright golden form next to Titan's hip. "Who's your companion?"

Titanium snorted. "Atlas, we've fought together, mocked our commanding officers behind their backs together, cheerfully pranked each other, and I've retrieved your overcharged aft from all the weird places you managed to get stuck. By this point I'm allowed to give you a stupid nickname and use it until the orn I finally go offline." He walked down the boarding ramp of the shuttle, curious ruby optics turning toward the rest of the group. "Now, who are all these mecha?"

The gold mech stepped forward, looking at the black mech with bright curiosity. "I am GoldenRod, Titanium's bonded mate." He tilted his helm. "You must be Axe. I've heard about you."

"Good things, I hope," the black triple changer grinned at him. "You're a cute one."

"These mecha are a long story," Dai Atlas admitted. "The short version is that in another universe this city fell along with most of its inhabitants and the Knights of Light that protected it. These are the survivors, and it seems that the version of you in their universe was a friend. One of very, very few they claim. They all have, or had, a version here."

"The good and the embarrassing, though more of the latter was directed at Dai Atlas," GoldenRod replied. "Being around someone who knew Atlas personally makes for a wealth of embarrassing stories."

Titanium tilted his head slightly to one side. "This promises to be a very interesting tale." He turned his attention to the group. "You seem to know me, but in this universe I don't know you. At least not yet."

Wing stepped forward. "Since your message, my creators and I have exchanged many stories. It seems that you have much in common with the mech we knew, including Goldie," Wing smiled at the glittering mech not much taller than he was. "I am Wing, second youngest creation of Dai Atlas and Axe." He took great care in pronouncing each designation, making it clear he was speaking of his origins, not the mecha standing with him.

The silver and purple triple changer nodded, making note of the designations. "It is good to meet you, Wing." Titanium smiled. "So Atlas has been telling you stories about us, has he? We'll have to return the favor, and see how badly we can embarrass him in the process. I was there during his hotheaded phase."

Dai Atlas groaned at the thought. Titanium ignored him, extending his arm to Wing for a warrior's embrace.

The sleek jet accepted the offer, closing around the giant's forearm with the ease of long experience with much larger frames and a warm smile.

"My cadre are Tetris and Klinge, Talon, Marwir, Silk, Flashfire and Kimark."

Titanium clasped forearms with each as they were introduced, inclining his helm to Klinge as she chittered at him in greeting. Purple-marked wings settled into a more relaxed position on his back, framing the hilts of the twin swords he carried. "I see that it won't be just with Axe and Atlas that I'll have some catching up to do. This promises to be a most interesting conversation."

"Definitely," Wing's grin brightened. "I know where my creators stash the _good_ high-grade. Care to share a cube while we trade stories?"

Titanium's grin matched Wing's, and GoldenRod's was even brighter. "Just don't let Blue there have too much. I don't feel like trying to pry his helm crests out of another wall right now."

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you," Dai Atlas grumped.

"That's my job now," Axe piped up helpfully, reaching over to tweak one of the crests playfully as the younger Knights snickered. "My mate."

Titanium laughed. "Good luck, Axe... I remember quite well what a handful he was back then." He flicked his wings lazily, looking up at the heights of the city again.

"So have you pulled Titanium out of any odd places?" Wing asked both GoldenRod and Dai Atlas, trying to even the field just a bit as the large group headed off to the leader's quarters.

"He's a lazy drunk," GoldenRod replied with a chuckle. "Just oozes right off the chair. Getting him off the floor is the interesting part. As I understand it, back then he was the 'designated Atlas-catcher'."

"Thankfully, at least three quarters of the time he'd forget he had wings," Titanium added. "Made him easier to wrangle."

Dai Atlas gave both mechs a dirty look. "_I_ wasn't the one who managed to crash-land right into a tank of used drive coolant," he shot back.

Silk made a face at that, but Marwir smirked. "Was he out of it enough to think it was a tank of high-grade?"

Dai Atlas chortled. "Hardly. He was fresh out of repairs. The painkillers and anesthetics always made him really, really loopy. Couldn't even fly straight."

GoldenRod laughed out loud. "And that hasn't changed at all. I've just learned to make sure his turbines are disabled before he wakes up."

Titanium reached over to poke at Dai Atlas' shoulder. "Drunken karaoke. You are tone-deaf."

"He picked a good mate then," Wing chirped, actually bouncing slightly on his pedes as they walked, his wings fluttering with delighted amusement. "Axe can keep pitch, but he can't keep a beat if his wings depended on it."

"Oh, I can keep a beat, my little Chirper," Axe grinned as his creation winced at the well-earned nic. "Just not to music."

GoldenRod leaned against his mate for balance, trying not to fall over laughing. "Titan here can't sing, either... He can hum, but not always on-key. Last time we were actually with the main command group, he was banned from trying to sing at all."

Titanium snorted. "The last time we were with the group, Sideswipe 'mysteriously' turned rainbow colors and glowed in the dark for an orn. That's why Prowl avoids calling us in if he can at all avoid it."

Wing lost it, tipping towards Marwir's supporting shoulder when her snickers left her stable. Kimark wasn't so lucky and ended up falling back into Titanium with a roar. "We've met those two. Violence and Chaos personified, those two."

Titanium easily caught Kimark, holding him upright. "Sideswipe was bad enough, with the glow paint, but, seriously, you should have seen _Sunstreaker_. Pink glitter paint, industrial-strength adhesive, and at least a ton of bright pink feathers. Sunny looked like the universe's crankiest flamingo."

The golden mech preened and every mecha who'd known Sunstreaker lost their composure, drawing more than a bit of attention from passing mecha.

"You ... Sunstreaker ... _survived_!" Kimark gasped out as he trembled with mirth against Titanium's hand.

GoldenRod's grin was cheerfully evil. "I stayed outside the Ark ... Sunny was too embarrassed to come out after me. I do have _some_ self-preservation instincts."

"If by 'self-preservation instincts' you mean refraining from booby-trapping Prowl's office with firecrackers wrapped in bags of glitter until we were a breem from launch," Titanium retorted. "They went off after we were well enough away that Prowl or Ratchet couldn't come after us. It'll be another century or so before we dare venture anywhere near the command group."

"Prowl will never forget," Wing giggled madly, his optics bright with mirth. "He'll have a brig cell waiting for you no matter how long it takes."

GoldenRod winked cheekily. "He'll have to catch me first."

"Too bad we won't see him try," Marwir chuckled as the group gathered themselves and moved again.

"Are you a roaming hunter?" Silk asked Titanium.

"We're nomads in general," Titanium replied. "Could settle back on Cybertron, just don't want to. I'm too twitchy to stay in one place for long periods of time, and Goldie's the restless type. We don't actively hunt 'Cons, but any who get on our bad side rarely survive the encounter." He twitched one of the swords on his back.

"That's a bit different," Wing said a bit more seriously. "The Titan that traveled with us for a time was as set on hunting as we were."

"Might have had something to do with how badly Goldie got mangled not long before," Marwir added. "Or maybe he's a bit different. Not all of us had the exact same history before our city fell, though most of it has been close."

The blond triple changer hummed. "That would set me off. So far we've managed to avoid any bad injuries. Goldie and I share a deep spark bond. Having him badly injured or killed would set me on a blood trail." He tilted his helm, looking at the members of the cadre. "What happened to him?"

"As I understand it, Devastator and Menasor used him to play some kind of throw and hit game," Talon said, his voice level and factual.

Both mechs growled. Titanium bared his dental plate briefly, for an instant looking like the killing machine he could be if badly provoked before forcing himself to calm down. GoldenRod muttered something about stocking anti-gestalt shells for his rifle.

"What caused my counterpart to part ways with you?" Titanium asked after a moment.

"He calmed down," Talon said easily. "Enough time with your bonded repaired and you were no longer driven to hunt the way we still were."

"Our hurt ... ran much deeper," Wing said quietly, his wings snapping in tight to his frame. Even with Drift back, his creators alive and with him and the city standing once more, so much hurt held in for so long was not dimming quickly.

"Both gestalts were fragged too," Kimark added.

The silver and purple mech laid a gentle hand on Wing's shoulder. "Give it time. Pain I know, all too well. It can take a very long time to dull." Hearing Kimark's comment, he snorted. "Not surprising. I might prefer to use swords, but I do carry other weapons and I do know how to use them."

GoldenRod bounced slightly, looking up at the city. "It's been a long time since I've seen a city like this, in one piece and untouched," he commented, changing the subject.

"Preserving what was left of Cybertron's culture, the good parts, was the reason we came," Dai Atlas smiled at the reaction to his legacy. "To do whatever we had to so the endless wars our kind indulge in never touch _this_ place. To ensure there will be something of value Cybertronians leave the universe."

Titanium smiled over at his old friend. "So this is why you dropped off the face of Cybertron. Can't say I didn't miss your help in terrorizing the rookie Cons on the battlefield or helping whip new 'Bots into shape, but _this_ is incredible."

"There were orns we missed the action too, but this ... we didn't have to contemplate sending our creations to their end the vorn they came of age," Axe hummed softly, the memories of loosing their Wing entirely too sharp.

"Too many lost. I couldn't do it any more," Dai Atlas confirmed.

The blond nodded, reaching up to pull off his helmet, tucking it under one arm and running armored fingers through blond pseudo-hair. "There are days I feel like I just want to curl up in a corner somewhere and stay there. But I can't. I want this war to _end_, so it'll be safe for sparklings and younglings again."

Dai Atlas turned deep red optics on his old friend as they entered the tower that housed the senior Knights. "Until the next war, and there is always a next war."

Red optics met red optics. "Fighting seems to be core programming now. Why, I'm not entirely sure. But I don't like it."

"We were brought on line with it as our core programming," Axe told him. "It can be broken, at least enough to no longer drive you."

"My bet's on most Cybertronians not _wanting_ to," the blond grumbled, wings tensing and small huffs escaping from the smokestacks on his arms. "So many _enjoy_ the fighting."

"The cycle feeds itself. To survive, you must have warriors. So you call for sparks that enjoy it. Only instead of protecting the civilians, they are the survivors, and they call for more of their own, not knowing any other way," Dai Atlas sighed, his wings quivering in a sadness of an ancient truth. "The first few hundred vorns after leaving Cybertron were brutal ones as we weeded out those types from the original contingent."

Titanium leaned over a couple of the smaller mechs to rest a hand on Dai Atlas' shoulder. "That couldn't have been easy, for anyone."

"It never is," Dai Atlas leaned fractionally into the touch, and into Axe as his mate pressed against his back. "But it was worth it, for what we've built here."

"I don't suppose you've crossed paths with Drift?" Axe asked, using the designation of the mech before meeting with Wing's cadre.

"He is, to my knowledge, the only bearer of a Great Sword that has left the city," Dai Atlas added. "Quite distinctive."

"Heard of him, but we've never actually met," Titanium replied, accepting the topic change. "He's got quite a reputation. Had our paths crossed, there probably would have been some sparring involved. Swordsmechs are fairly rare. Most 'modern' Cybertronians see swords and blade weapons as outdated, which annoys me immensely."

"Most modern Cybertronians do not have the _time_ to learn how to use them," Dai Atlas suggested. "Blasters are far quicker to learn when you might have to defend yourself the orn you come on line."

"Blasters are messy and loud," Titanium snorted. "Sure, I carry guns myself, but I rarely use them. There's no art to them."

"I use a rifle because I have absolutely no aptitude for bladework," GoldenRod interjected. "Titan tried teaching me, and after a while he pretty much forbade me from ever using anything longer than an energy dagger. Otherwise I might cut off my own limb by accident."

Several snickers passed through the younger mecha as they paused outside the door of the top-floor apartment and Dai Atlas palmed it open.

"Good thing you have a skilled defender then," Kimark chuckled.

GoldenRod laughed. "I fight with him." He pulled out his rifle briefly, just to show that he did have a weapon, then stashed it back in subspace. "Titan's the close-quarters warrior. I pick off anyone who tries to sneak up on him or tries to shoot him. It works for us."

Titanium flicked his wings. "His aim's better than mine was that one time you and I were on the battlefield, Atlas."

The blue mech snorted. "You shot me in the _aft_."

"It wasn't on purpose!"

"_This_ I have to hear!" Wing cheered as everyone found a place to settle, and the pairings among his cadre became more clear as they snuggled.

Titanium settled into a chair, setting his helmet down on a table. GoldenRod scooted over, pulling out what looked like a pen and running the tip of it over his mate's faceplate, around his right optic and down his cheek. The blond didn't seem to notice. "Was a fairly nasty skirmish. Atlas himself was actually using a gun himself at that point. Being an officer he was in the front lines, while I'd been assigned to sharpshooting, covering the head honchos. I took a shot, and just as I pulled the trigger, my target ducked. The energy beam ricocheted. Klik later I heard him yowling." He waved a hand at Dai Atlas. "The ricochet got him square in the skidplate. Oops."

"That was either the luckiest or unluckest shot in history," Marwir snickered from her place in Tetris' arms.

"What's your mate up to?" Wing asked, his natural curiosity finally on the mend.

"It certainly provided a lot of material for at least a vorn's worth of teasing," Titanium agreed.

GoldenRod tilted his helm, regarding his "work", then pulled out a small blue LED, shining it on the side of Titanium's face. Immediately a complex, almost tribal pattern flared into view, running from Titanium's hairline over his right optic down his cheek to his jaw.

One purple-marked wing flicked in a shrug. "He's not only good at turning Lambos different colors. You'll find patterns like that all over me, depending on what color light you use."

"Very cool," Kimark rumbled, utterly fascinated. "The arts took a _hard_ hit in this war."

GoldenRod gave him a shy smile, shining the blue light over his mate's armor. Other designs in blue light ink flared against silver and purple armor. "I've always had some talent for drawing. Titan doesn't mind being used as a drawing pad, thankfully."

"Have you ever done carving?" Kimark asked, shifting to show a small strait-line spiral design on his spaulder. It was barely visible, being only a couple shades lighter than his dark maroon finish.

GoldenRod leaned over to look, absently handing Wing a red LED and waving toward an amused Titanium, who obligingly stood to show off the red-light ink artwork on his armor. "I haven't, but I know a medic who can do incredible etchings with his laser scalpels."

"You're here," the former gladiator pointed out. "I'm not leaving again."

Blue optics brightened. "Is that an offer to show me how it's done?"

"I know how," Kimark agreed.

"As do I," Silk added softly.

"But I have no artistic talent," Kimark shrugged. "I can only go over what's been drawn for me."

"I do, but not what he likes," she indicated the delicate, almost organic patterns of her own paint. "Carving is not that difficult with the right tools. Keeping it from healing over is the trick. The nanite paste isn't hard to come by now," he made a motion towards the city.

GoldenRod tilted his helm, looking at Silk's patterns. "I think it would be an interesting skill to acquire... Make some of that more visible." He indicated Titanium, who was shining different-colored lights over himself to reveal stylized animal designs, tribal patterns, and abstract markings on his armor. Axe was poking at some of the patterns while Dai Atlas merely watched, talking to the purple and silver triple changer.

"Perhaps we can make a deal," Kimark suggested. "I'll teach you how to carve and make it heal right. You draw designs on me, that I want."

"And under the light, so you can see what I'm drawing." GoldenRod offered a hand. "Deal."

* * *

><p>Joors later, all of Wing's cadre except for Wing had drifted off, whether to duties or recharge, and the mood turned abruptly serious.<p>

"I have a favor to ask, for one of my Knights-in-training," Dai Atlas broached an uneasy subject for him.

Titanium lifted an optic rim over one ruby optic. An audial panel shifted slightly under blond hair. "What favor?"

GoldenRod looked up from where he was drawing intricate swirls on Wing's armor in the blue light ink, curious.

"As the final lesson before Knighthood, an Initiate must inflict a penance of pain on a Knight. To prove they know how, and when to stop," Dai Atlas kept the explanation brief. "I believe Drift is ready, but the crimes that warrant such a punishment are few and the penance must be earned by the one who suffers it. Wing has agreed to suffer the penance for his mate's training. Yet there is very little that can believably cause him to commit violence."

"We'd like you to provoke a fight with Wing," Axe added.

The blond triple changer blinked. "You'd like one of us to pick a fight."

GoldenRod finished the design he was working on, putting away his ink stylus. "One trigger I can think of would be raw, green-eyed jealousy. Something involving Drift, I would think." he pondered for a moment. "It's doable. And both of us can handle ourselves in a brawl. Titan can handle it if blades get involved."

"They will," Wing looked at them seriously. "That's one of the reasons we've had such trouble with this. The few who could hope to pull this off know _exactly_ how possessive I am of Drift, and they know Drift just isn't interested ... and wouldn't respond even if he was. If I fight, he will too, and he can't know this is set up. You'll have to take damage, serious enough for medical attention, or the penance will be too light."

Both nodded. "We're not afraid of getting hurt. This _must_ be done, one way or another." Titanium placed one hand on the table. "We're in."

The golden-armored mech leaned forward. "Of the two of us, I'm the more playful, the flirt, so that part of it will be mine. Titan can step into 'defend' me when the fight breaks out."

"Thank you," Wing covered Titanium's hand with his much smaller one.

"Yes, thank you," Dai Atlas added his had, as did Axe. "Drift is as much our creation as Wing, for all he'll never understand it."

GoldenRod placed his hand on theirs, and then Titanium added his other hand to the top. The purple and silver triple's red optics glowed softly. "So what's the plan?"

"I'll take Drift to a club in the city, somewhere that he won't be surprised to see a lot of strangers, even in a city that has only gotten a dozen new residents since its founding. I'll excuse myself to get energon for us. That'll be your cue to come up." Wing focused on GoldenRod. "Be touchy, but not so much that _he_ punches you. He is protective of his personal space."

The gold mech nodded. "I can do that."

Titanium tilted his head. "I'll keep back at first, when things start to heat up I'll step in."

"That's the idea," Wing nodded. "If you aren't _very_ fast, he'll loose a hand."

Titanium chuckled. "I'm fast."

"Move slower and you won't have to give me an opening to damage you," Wing pointed out. "It'll be over quick, but Knights can't arrive to break it up until I've done enough damage to warrant the penance Drift must inflict."

The big mech nodded slowly, digesting that. "You'll have to work to get through my armor; it's pretty thick. There are some energon lines close to the surface here and here." He indicated several areas on his torso. "Minor lines, but they tend to bleed like crazy when breached."

"Protect yourself from Drift, give me an opening," Wing requested. "We can spar before recharge if you'd like. It will give you a sense of how skilled I am, what level of opening I'll need."

"Drift will be told of this arrangement after the penance are complete," Dai Atlas added. "He will know you are a friend when you see him after this."

Titanium flicked a wing toward Wing. "Some sparring would be helpful, to gauge each other's skill level." He inclined his head to Dai Atlas. "It helps that Drift has never seen us before, so he won't know what to make of us."

"He should assume that you are just a couple residents of the city. It may be small, but he has spent very little of his time exploring the areas outside the Citadel."

"As if he ever had the time to," Wing snorted playfully. "He's barely had enough energy to play after his training most days."

GoldenRod laughed at that. Titanium grinned. Then he tapped the Autobot insignia on his chestplate. "Should we hide these, then?"

Wing considered them, and nodded. "Likely for the best. He may have removed his own insignia when he became an Initiate, but he still views them as allies of a sort. I believe he is much less likely to try and stop me if he does not realize your alliance."

GoldenRod nodded. "I can paint over mine later, temporarily, and after the sparring I'll replace that pane of Titan's cockpit with a blank piece."

"Thank you," Wing smiled warmly at the pair. "What can I offer for your help and pain?"

Titanium's smile was warm. "Just being able to catch up with old friends, in a place where we can relax and be visitors for the first time in a very, very long time, is enough for us."

GoldenRod nodded his agreement.

Wing inclined his helm in a formal thanks and acceptance.

"Redline, our chief medic, will see to your damage, if you wish," Dai Atlas offered. "It is the least we can do, given you are taking the damage as a favor to us."

The blond nodded. "That would be acceptable, thank you. And I would like a chance to spar with you, Atlas, before we leave the city."

"Any time you come by I will make time for a good sparring match or two," Dai Atlas promised. "I have entirely too few opponents here sometimes."

"Up for testing your dog fighting skills while you're here too?" Axe asked with a grin. "We have plenty of young, impressionable fliers who would benefit from the experience."

The purple and silver mech laughed. "Sure, it'd be fun to engage in some playful dog fighting with your fliers. As long as you get your wings in the air now and then, too. And try not to crash into anything."

"I haven't in ages," the back mech huffed in good humor to his mate and creation's snickering.

Titanium grinned. "That's good. Don't want a repeat of the incident with the metal cables."

"Oh good grief," the smallest triple changer groaned for real. "That was my first solo flight!"

"Didn't make it any less funny," Titanium replied, optics sparkling with amusement.

"Do tell," Wing purred, enjoying getting new stories of his creator's youth immensely.

Titanium took a sip of his energon, a potent vintage of Vosian high grade from long before what was being called 'The Great War'. "He'd been warned not to fly that way... There was a labyrinth of metal cables strung between the buildings to catch enemy fliers. Fortunately, Axe is too big a jet to be brought down that way, unfortunately, he was also too big to dodge. Could hear the yelling from several blocks away. He'd gotten so badly tangled in the cables we had to cut him down and take him to the medics to get the cables off."

Wing's optics glittered brightly as he laughed. "Oh my. That puts my early flying mishaps to shame!"

The silver and purple mech chuckled. "Atlas here somehow managed to get wedged in the window of an abandoned skyscraper, after being caught by surprise and dodging by reflex."

"You got yourself stranded on a rooftop," the blue mech retorted. "Stuck in alt mode and on your back!"

Wing choked on his laughter. "How did _that_ happen?"

"Titan's flight mode is larger than mine, which is why he persists in calling me 'Little Blue'," Dai Atlas replied, relishing the opportunity to embarrass Titanium. "A powerful updraft caught him as he flew between the buildings, flipped him up and over. The impact knocked his transformation cog out of place, so he couldn't transform, and there was no way he could roll over in jet mode."

"Unlike designs like mine," Wing snickered, knowing he was setting up to get a couple stories of his mishaps told. "Worst I ever did was fly into a sand dune at full speed first time I snuck out."

Dai Atlas raised an optic rim. "And it took _how_ long to get the sand out of you? I seem to recall that you've flown into a few things while the city was still underground. Or have you forgotten that one time I had to pry you off of a stalactite not long after you started flying."

"The sand was _way_ worse," Wing countered. "That stalactite just hurt. The sand was in my joints for a _decaorn_ before Redline took pity on me and did the full fix. Or was it you that got tired of hearing me whimper in recharge and cut the punishment short?"

"Something like that." Dai Atlas snorted. "You ran into a stalactite, then ended up clinging to it for dear life. I had to go up and pry you off the thing." He regarded his creation with amusement. "And then there was that time you found that desert insect that crawled under your armor. You were running around for a good groon after that, trying to get it out."

Titanium chortled.

GoldenRod swatted him. "You somehow managed to get a bat into your chest cavity once."

Wing's expression went from the wince of remembered discomfort and youthful panic to the snickering wince of sympathetic amusement. "Surely Goldie has some fun events too."

The gold mech pouted. Titanium laughed, reaching over to tweak his mate's spoiler. "Goldie's a groundframe, obviously... First time we were on Earth, when he was still getting used to tires, he took a corner too fast and went right off the road. Landed in a tree. Took joors to get all the leaves and twigs, and a live raccoon, out of his circuitry."

Wing, the only one who knew anything of Earth, laughed heartily. "At least he was still easy to find, I'm sure. Hard to miss that finish, even in a tree."

"A furry, four-legged mammal, about this big," Titanium explained to Dai Atlas and Axe, holding two fingers apart to approximate the size of the large adult raccoon. "And yes, Goldie's quite difficult to miss. Normally. When he wants to go unnoticed, he's actually quite hard to catch."

"That raccoon tickled like you wouldn't believe," GoldenRod added.

Wing raised an optic ridge. "How does _that_ finish go unnoticed?"

"You would be surprised," Titanium replied with a chuckle. "Goldie is much sneakier than you'd think, and he has raised going unnoticed to an art form. How did you think he manages to prank the Lambo twins?"

GoldenRod looked at everyone innocently while they regarded him critically.

"Point taken, but you didn't answer," Wing pointed out.

"Because I honestly have no idea how he manages it." Titanium spread his hands helplessly. "I just know it works."

"Attitude can be everything," Dai Atlas commented knowingly. "It cam let a rookie walk in and start giving orders to officers, an ops mech walk in the front door and right up to their target, then out again ... or a flashy as the pit mech be overlooked. About right?" he smiled at GoldenRod.

"About right," GoldenRod agreed, grinning at the bigger mech. "Works better than stealth sometimes. And drives Red Alert right up the wall."

"You gave that mech more fritzes than the Lambos did, I swear." Titanium shook his head.

"I'm going to guess that's a security mecha," Axe guessed.

"Chief of security, I think," Wing said, a vague recollection of the designation from Drift's stories. "Drift mentioned him, but not much. Don't think they had much contact."

"Security director," Titanium confirmed. "Normally found in the security hub, watching the camera feeds. He's got a paranoia glitch. The Lambos have made it a mission to torment him. Red Alert fritzes about Goldie just because he's a mech with an occasionally literally blinding paint job who can get around without being noticed by anything but the cameras."

"That would do it," Wing chuckled, shaking his helm. "How did the two of you meet?" he asked with honest curiosity.

"I ran into him, literally," GoldenRod replied casually. "Was forced to land on a planet and look for supplies; I didn't have enough on board to make it to the next port. He'd been chased to the same planet by a pack of Quints, already damaged, and his ship was falling apart. The crash managed to throw off the Quints. I was scouting when I rounded a boulder and literally hit him right in the shins."

Titanium snorted. "Sent me aft over helm, that I remember. Hitting the ground didn't help in my already damaged state. Next thing I remember was waking up on his ship with him trying to put me back together. We just kind of stuck together after that."

"Quints?" Dai Atlas focused on an apparent threat he knew nothing of.

Titanium rumbled. "Quintessons. They enslaved us, long before our time. When our race began. The first war on Cybertron was when the newly-sparked Cybertronians threw off the Quints. These days, most have forgotten about them, but they haven't forgotten about us."

"What do these Quints look like?" Dai Atlas rumbled.

"Five-faced floating eggs with tentacles, usually." Titanium projected a holo image through his optic lenses. "Their soldiers are nearly mindless things called sharkticons. Mean jaws, but not very bright. The Quints ran afoul of the 'Cons early on and got their slimy afts kicked, so they're better at keeping their distance now than they were when Goldie and I met."

"So the Cons actually did something _good_ for Cybertronians?" Wing snorted, his wings twitching in agitation as too many memories filtered up. He wasn't even aware how dark his field turned, much less that it was nearly instant.

Both Autobots eyed the small jet with curiosity and some wariness, GoldenRod actually leaning away from Wing. Dai Atlas regarded his creation, once again reminded of what this white jet had suffered.

"As shocking as it is, they did, kind of," Titanium rumbled.

It was Axe that reached out for Wing, a gentle hand on his shoulder and one finger rubbing a soothing pattern on one wing until Wing murmured wordlessly and began to relax, his field settling.

"A few vorns here have not been long enough to heal from the losses at the hands of the Decepticons," Axe explained quietly.

Titanium rested both elbows on the table, regarding Wing. "I can understand that. It will take centuries or millennia for that kind of pain to dull." He tilted his head slightly. "With my red optics and wings, I am often mistaken for a Decepticon, by the 'Cons themselves as often as by fellow Autobots and other races. Makes 'Cons easier to kill sometimes. But, with the resemblance, are _you_ sure that you want to spar with me before we set this plan of ours in motion?"

Wing's optics cycled in surprise. "I trusted you with my cadre for over a century. In case you haven't noticed, red optics aren't exactly a Con marking to Knights," he motioned to Dai Atlas.

"Not in this universe, no," Titanium agreed, tapping his fingertips lightly on the table. "But red optics mean 'Con to most of the universe. You and your cadre have suffered terrible losses at the hands of the 'Cons. So I'd rather be sure."

Wing shook his helm, sure of this at least. "You _feel_ like the same Titan. I'm good."

Tensed wings relaxed, settling lower on Titanium's back, framing his swords. "Had to make sure. It's one of the reasons Goldie and I are nomadic."

"Too much prejustice against the optics?" Wing said sadly. "That's one thing we don't have here. Even my cadre may have ... _issues_ ... but optics aren't among them."

"No one had really made the association when we left, and we've done our best to have very limited outside contact since," Dai Atlas added.

"With a few very rare exceptions, mostly myself and Hot Spot, almost all Autobots have blue optics, and all Decepticons have red optics. Also, I'm a triple changer, one of the biggest. The majority of big triples went 'Con... Blitzwing, Astrotrain, Octane, Flattop, Roadblock, Snapdragon, Trypticon and a dozen others. The few 'Bot triples are questionably 'Bot in personality. So everyone watches me warily." Titanium shrugged. "I chose to wander the outer ranges of space to avoid most contact with my own kind because of it. Goldie chose to stay with me rather than leaving after I was repaired."

Wing cocked his helm. "So you haven't been a nomad long, relatively speaking."

Titanium shook his head. "Nope. I left Cybertron sometime after the current war broke out, well after Atlas vanished. I'm older than he is. Only a small fraction of my life has been spent constantly on the move."

"You will always be welcome here, if you choose to settle once more," Dai Atlas offered his old friend.

Titanium smiled at the other mech. "I'll probably take you up on that in the future. Am really getting fed up with all the fuelshed."

GoldenRod put his empty energon cube down, looking at Wing. "It's getting pretty late. Were you two planning on sparring a bit tonight, or are we going to wait another orn?"

"We can in the morning, if you wish," the small jet smiled easily. "I'm sure Drift is more than ready for me to return to our quarters."

"One of us will warn you if he's headed your way. Wouldn't want him to see either of you before we're ready for it," Axe winked an optic.

Titanium nodded. "That will be fine. And yes, don't want Drift so us too soon." He nodded at Axe. "Have to clean my swords properly while I'm at it."

Dai Atlas stood, signaling the others to as well. He offered a warrior's shake to Titanium. "Would you like guest quarters, or to recharge in your ship?"

Titanium rose to his feet, clasping the other old warrior's forearm. "Guest quarters, please," he replied after a questioning look at Goldie.

"It's nice to get _out_ of the ship for a while," the gold mech added. He tilted his helm at Dai Atlas. "Ya know, I'm pretty sure one of the older rifles he's got in his collection used to belong to you."

The blond looked a little sheepish at that.

"He is welcome to it," Dai Atlas smiled as Axe slipped away to their berth room. "I have not used anything but swords since I was accepted to train in Metallikato."

Axe reappeared and offered a small but beautifully crafted box to Titanium. "Something for your swords."

"Thank you." Titanium accepted it with an incline of his helm. He smiled at Dai Atlas. "It hasn't been fired probably since the last time you used it. I keep it clean and charged, but I've never used it myself."

"Have a good evening," Wing smiled at the couple. "I'll see you when Drift is training to finish arrangements for tonight."

Titanium nodded to him. "We'll be waiting for you."

GoldenRod flicked his spoiler as Wing slipped from the room, eager to be with his mate for the last time before true violence tested their relationship. "I'll lock down the ship and then meet Titan at our assigned quarters."


	14. Pain Begets Pain

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Drift/Wing, GoldenRod/Titanium  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 for Violence  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Violence, Ritualized Violence, Graphic Sexual Violence  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

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><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 14: Pain Begets Pain<strong>

* * *

><p>One of Wing's great delights had been finding out, entirely by accident, that Drift actually <em>enjoyed<em> live music. He actually regretted using one of Drift's favored music clubs for this, but it had the space and it was an easy location to get Drift to while keeping him unsuspecting of anything more than Wing being Wing.

The beat was good, and in another dozen vorns he was sure Drift would be happy to join him on the dance floor, but for now they hung out on the periphery with a good view and enjoyed their respective mid-grades. Out of the corner of his optic he caught a flash of gold that could only be GoldenRod. A bit early, but it shouldn't be a problem. A couple breems and Drift would be ready for a refill.

The gold mech's armor had been polished to a soft shine, elegant designs in silver painted onto his shoulders, torso, and helm. His faction insignias were visibly absent.

Next to him was the taller of the pair, Titanium, minus his helmet, his armor also polished to a shine. His blond mane had been arranged in dozens of slim braids, something that must have taken joors to do. The design on the side of his face had been repainted in clearly visible blue paint. He still carried his swords, wings held so that the hilts were slightly less visible over his shoulders. Red optics met Wing's gold, the big triple changer tilting his head slightly.

A tiny wing-flick acknowledged the recognition and spoke of a small delay as Wing turned his attention to nuzzling and being his affectionate self with Drift, something his mate was happy to return. He didn't even notice Wing's efforts to make the energon go away by playfully and sensually feeding him.

With a nipping kiss to Drift's lips, Wing pulled away, his field reluctant to let go but also promising much when he returned.

GoldenRod shifted, discreetly watching, waiting for his turn to move. Titanium leaned against a wall casually, looking for all the world like he was lost in the music, finishing off his cube when Wing left his mate and made a casual walk to the bar.

The owner, bartender, staff and local security command and mecha had all been informed of what was going down, where, what and why, so no one would interfere who wasn't supposed to.

As best as was possible in a public venue, this would remain Knight-only.

"Hey there," GoldenRod purred, slipping up to Drift, bright blue optics taking in the white mech's frame with open admiration. "Looking for some company?"

Titanium watched from the corner of his optic, being discreet about it.

"No," Drift said politely, more politely than his reputation would have indicated. "My company will be back in a klik."

Too bad." The gold mech reached out, tracing a light finger down Drift's spaulder, taking note of the flare in the mech's field of pleasure-desire that was purely physical. "You're handsome. Perhaps your company would like to share?"

"Most unlikely," Drift said stiffly. "Please do not touch me."

"Shy?" GoldenRod gave the white mech a coy look, reluctantly withdrawing his hand after tracing his fingertips along the edge of Drift's spaulder and down his arm. "I'm not going to bite you."

A rumble of displeasure was touched with arousal, but Drift's ice blue optics went searching for Wing. "Possessive," he corrected.

GoldenRod tilted his helm, smiling innocently. His optics roamed over Drift, opening admiring his chassis, fingers hovering just over one white arm but not quite touching. "That a bad thing?"

"For you, yes," Drift's smile turned nasty, a look he rarely displayed anymore. "Even Knights have a limit to what they tolerate."

"I'm no threat," the gold-armored mech crooned, batting his optics. "Just looking for some company for the evening." He leaned against the table in a manner that showed off his own frame.

Titanium chuckled to himself. He saw Wing's pinions and wings flare in _real_ displeasure and suddenly went serious. They'd been told this was treading on a situation that really could explode; that Wing was honestly, deeply possessive of Drift's romantic attentions and Drift approved, even if he wasn't quite as set on keeping Wing just to himself.

Dai Atlas and Axe trusted Wing's self control. Wing believed he was more than capable of keeping his cool while putting on a display. But _seeing_ the Knight, knowing the darkness in him and the skill he brought to the situation suddenly made this much less of a game.

"Look elsewhere," Drift rumbled in a _very_ blatant dismissal of his suitor.

"You _sure_?" GoldenRod slipped closer. Outwardly he was intent on Drift, internally he was coiling to move. His own mate's unease was leaking through their bond. Titanium's optics fixed on Wing, casually reaching back as if to scratch his neck while loosening his swords in their sheaths.

"Yes," Drift growled flat out and gave GoldenRod a solid shove to get him to leave before Wing returned. It was too nice an evening, one of his first free ones in decaorns and he wanted to _enjoy_ it. "Leave."

GoldenRod let out a yip of surprise, grabbing the table to keep from falling over. His hand landed right over Drift's as he caught his balance, silver fingers over black, caressing accidentally.

He _felt_ turbines roar in outrage that simply couldn't be faked and caught a glance of Wing stalking towards him with short sword drawn, his armor flared out in a threat-challenge display and golden optics glowing brightly.

Titanium was already moving, weaving his way through the crowd as quickly as he could, his wings arching.

GoldenRod turned to look at the jet, sidestepping slightly, pretending to look curious. He felt Drift's field shift from annoyance to real concern.

"Bolt!" Drift snarled at GoldenRod.

Suddenly there was a flurry of movement around GoldenRod. Wing launched himself with a snarl, his field as dark and violent as any Decepticon's. Drift lunched himself as well, but angled to catch his mate from connecting with the golden stranger; one hand reaching for the sword-arm, the other to grapple Wing's side so his greater mass could take the jet down.

GoldenRod took a step back, watching with the best look of wide-opticked "what the pit?" he could manage. Titanium lurked nearby, one sword drawn, held against his leg to keep anyone from noticing.

Drift was fast, but Wing was faster, more skilled and intent on his target.

Steel rang furiously as a larger form interposed itself between Wing and GoldenRod, a slightly curved blade as long as Wing's arm, intricate glyphs etched the center line, catching the blade of Wing's short sword and bringing the bristling jet to a halt. At this range, Titanium could feel the honest outrage fuelling Wing's movements, clouding his reasoning, but he also detected a mech that was in complete control of himself and his weapon.

The white mech that had rolled to his pedes a couple steps away was less stable but far more _confused-worried_ than violent.

"That's my mate you're trying to carve up," the large triple changer rumbled, red optics narrowing.

"That is _my_ mate he was trying to drape himself over," Wing hissed, his wings flaring in a clear warning that even grounders understood as 'back off.'

Titanium flared out his own wings in an answering display of "not budging unless you back off". "Goldie likes to play. Your mate's a handsome mech. I'm not surprised mine likes him." Red optics swept over Drift in less open but still visible admiration before returning to Wing.

He sensed Drift move before Wing, but the first strike of New Crystal City steel against his plating was still a surprise. Yes, he'd left himself open, but Wing was _amazingly_ fast when motivated. Before his full focus settled on Wing, he felt Drift's shock, saw him back away.

At least for now, Drift wasn't going to break the laws of the Order.

The cut stung, having breached his armor and cut an energon line just as intended and expected, but Titanium was used to pain. His only response was a hiss before he struck back, drawing his other sword. GoldenRod danced out of the way of the razor-sharp blades, watching energon trickle from the gash in his mate's side.

"Wing." Drift implored his mate to back off with the single word, expressing his distress at this. It wasn't like Wing ... it wasn't _right_. Yes the large golden mech was annoying him, but hardly enough to warrant violence.

Wing ignored him and struck at Titanium again.

The triple changer's katana caught one of Wing's short swords, twisting to swat across the jet's wrist. Red optics narrowed as Titanium blocked a quick strike, but a lightning-quick move by Wing brought more energon out through a second, deeper slice along Titanium's thigh. The triple changer bared his dental plates in a deep snarl that didn't phase Wing in the least.

Drift, on the other hand, had gone from distressed to a borderline panic with the second strike.

"Wing!" the white grounder snarled this time, an order as a mate to back off, to return.

Wing, as per plan, ignored him. It showed though, the strain of distressing his mate like this.

The thunder of large, powerful engines roared in from overhead, followed by multiple transformation sequences and the parting of the crowd near the door.

The thunder of engines "distracted" Titanium ever so briefly, just long enough for a short sword to stab through his hip joint, getting a bellow of pain from the blond as his leg collapsed under him. Several other rapid-fire slashes left stinging, bleeding cuts across the big mech's chest and upper arms before the arrived Knights could pour in.

It was Drift that stopped the assault though, by tackling his mate and accepting a sword through his spaulder in the processes. Dai Atlas and Axe were there, Axe focusing on controlling the struggling Knights, Dai Atlas focused on Titanium with real concern while other Knights did crowd control and went through the motions of getting information.

"Any critical damage?" Dai Atlas asked softly, though he knew the answer full well.

"Hip joint's gone," the blond replied, spitting out a mouthful of energon. "No great loss there; joint was stripped and needed replacing anyway. He got some of the power lines in my lower torso, so I'm not feeling much down there. Plenty of spilled energon, but nothing that'll end me anytime soon." He looked down as he shifted, watching more energon bubbling from a cut previously unnoticed. "And that would be my fuel tank. It's breached, and he nicked my coolant pump."

"He will be punished, severely," Dai Atlas promised, his tone as grave as his field. Planned or not, needed or not, he _hated_ this. He made quick work of field patching the worst of the damage when Redline arrived, his orders quickly clearing a path for himself and his assistants. "We will see to your repairs."

Titanium nodded, another thin stream of energon running lazily from the corner of his mouth. Red optics flicked to Drift and Wing. "Drift is going to hate this," he murmured before turning his attention to Redline.

The giant triple changer that lead the Knights and Circle of light stood and turned on his adopted creations with all the tightly reigned in anger that the real event would create in him. " Tetris, Marwir. See Wing to the meeting chamber. He is to mediate there until Drift has been repaired and Redline can join us."

Wing had settled, his wings low, helm down and shame radiating from him. All three swords had been stripped from him by Axe, but the one that really bothered everyone was the blade that had to be removed from Drift's spaulder.

Not that the white grounder complained. Even though it meant he couldn't transform until he was repaired.

Wing allowed himself to be led away by his cadre mates, both of them glaring at him but refraining from saying anything. Axe joined his mate, carrying Wing's swords.

"What's going to happen to him?" Drift asked before Dai Atlas could turn away and leave him to the medics.

"Wing allowed jealousy and anger to control him. He attacked and badly injured another mech and damaged a Knight Initiate as well. He must be punished for what he has done, according to our law," Dai Atlas told Drift, red optics looking the white mech over. Energon and cut metal

Redline came over as Titanium was taken away, GoldenRod right behind him. They all felt the bright flash of anger as Drift's optics landed on GoldenRod, but the white mech left it at that.

The medic inspected the wound to Drift's spaulder with careful, knowing fingers that had seen several lifetimes worth of sword damage of all kinds, from accidents to death matches that nearly killed the executioner. "You are coming with me to get that repaired."

"Yes, sir," Drift said quietly, his field muting to a sick dread for his mate.

Dai Atlas put a large hand on his uninjured shoulder. "You honored your oaths as a Knight this orn, choosing what was right over your mate."

A tremor ran down Drift's frame, not entirely sure he liked it, even though that was why he'd stopped Wing. Better he do it, someone he knew Wing wouldn't intentionally damage, than another Knight that might not have Wing's best interests in mind. He allowed all of it to pass and followed Redline out to where one of the larger jet Knights was waiting to transport Drift to the Citadel medical center.

* * *

><p>Redline was the last mech to enter the meeting chamber. "Repairs are completed on Titanium. He was not kidding about that hip joint, but that was too drastic a manner in which to get a joint replaced." He took his place, turning to face Dai Atlas.<p>

In the center of the room stood Wing, stripped of his swords but without restrains, helm bowed and radiating defiance. Far too far away, Drift was relegated to the furthest seat; allowed to be present but not yet a full Knight with the right to participate.

Dai Atlas stood, his manner as grim as when Kimark had stood before the Circle nearly four hundred vorns before. "Wing, Knight of the Light, do you accept the charge that you attacked and injured a civilian and a fellow Knight without provocation?"

"I do." Wing looked up briefly at Dai Atlas. "Under the law."

Red optics narrowed. "But not in your spark."

The white jet lifted his chin, looking his creator in the optics, but said nothing.

"Before your crimes and penance are recorded, do you have anything to say before the Circle, Knight?" Dai Atlas said gravely. Deep in his chest, his spark was frantic. Could he really go through with this?

"No." Wing's gaze was level as he gazed at Dai Atlas.

"Very well," Dai Atlas briefly turned his optics off to gather his courage to condemn his creation to such pain at the hands of his own mate. "For the crimes of violence against a civilian and violence against a Knight, your penance will be violence against your frame."

All that everyone knew. Everyone expected it. Typically, it would be Dai Atlas or Axe to inflict such a penance if another Knight did not demand the position. This time...

"Initiate Drift. You will perform this penance without direct supervision."

Wing did not turn, but his sensors were trained on his mate. One wing twitched ever so slightly as he waited for the shock to wear off.

Stunned shock melted into horror, then a grim determination that showed on Drift's features.

"Yes, sir," Drift said, his voice almost level.

It didn't do anything to hide how distressed this made him, but there was not a Knight there that didn't expect him to be distressed. It was not the emotions that mattered, but how he acted. At the moment, Drift was doing the title of Knight of Light all honor.

Internally, Wing smiled. Drift had worked so hard, come so far, to reach this moment and he was immensely proud of his mate's achievement. Outward, his expression remained impassive, his optics still fixed on his creator.

Dai Atlas was focused on Drift. "Do you understand what you must do?"

With a suppressed shudder Drift nodded. "Inflict pain until he regrets his actions for the betrayal of the Code of Light they are."

"Then take him to a penance chamber," Dai Atlas instructed. "Comm Redline at any point repairs are required to continue, or when it is over."

"I understand," Drift inclined his helm and stood to walk to the floor. He walked up to Wing with the torment showing faintly on his features, but he did little to conceal it in his field. "Go."

Wing bowed his helm slightly, turning and walking out of the meeting chamber. He turned down the corridor toward the penance rooms and followed Drift's directions to one that hadn't been used by Drift yet.

Once they were out of sight, Axe slipped out of the meeting chambers. He would be watching on the monitors, as would Dai Atlas before too long.

The door closed behind the mated couple and Drift turned to regard the love of his existence quietly for a long moment.

Golden optics glanced briefly at Drift. White wings shifted slightly as Wing glanced around the simple room, one no different from any other physically, before the jet turned back to his mate.

"Wing," Drift let out a long vent. "Why?"

Wing looked at him, not sure how to answer. Drift could not know about the setup until after the penance had been completed.

Drift accepted the silence for an answer, a mark of how out of sorts he was. The submission in his field was more suited to the one suffering the penance, yet it was mingled with a grim determination that Wing knew well from keeping his cadre on the path of light as much as he could. He turned to the cabinet full of supplies, both innocent and deadly. He flitted his fingers over the neat coils of colored cords. Unlike the first time he'd bound Wing's wrists for a penance, that one only a meditative night of distress and discomfort in his quarters, now he knew the meaning behind each cord.

Knew because he had been bound with each and strung up until he could understand from what they invoked what each was meant for.

Drift turned and golden optics met blue. Wing extending his arms, wrists together, for the binding.

Red, for emotion.

The jet said nothing as his wrists were bound, but he watched the smooth movements of his mate. Thousands of joors of practice had gone into it, both on practice bars and on Wing, until Drift could tie wrists together in a pattern unique to Drift that was as functional as it was beautiful. Less flourishes than Wing's, much more like Dai Atlas' pattern, yet to Wing it was beautifully elegant as anything he did. It was pure Drift.

Once bound, Wing moved to the center of the room under Drift's steady gaze, sank to his knees and waited.

The white grounder considered his mate for a long moment, then pinged Dai Atlas' comm, one of the few that would go through down here.

::Yes?:: Dai Atlas responded after a moment.

Wing remained unmoving, his optics fixed on the floor.

::Can I get something from my quarters or does someone have to fetch it for me?::

::You must remain there until the penance is complete,:: Dai Atlas replied. ::Someone may retrieve the item and bring it to you.::

Drift sent a databurst of the initially decorated helm-sized box and its location and turned his attention to Wing. Without a word he pulled a hook down and tugged a compliant Wing to his pedes. White arms were soon above and behind his helm, locked on the hook and the chain secured in place.

He walked around and tipped Wing's chin to meet up optics. "Are you sorry for what you did?"

Wing met Drift's optics. "No."

It was the Knight leader himself who appeared at the door to the penance chamber, the requested box held in his hands. Face impassive, the blue mech passed it to Drift, red optics flicking once toward Wing before the larger mech left again.

With precise care Drift extended a table from the wall Wing was facing and began to set instruments out. First the known ones, the common ones; electro-whip, stun baton, a variety of short blades, tools originally designed for repair.

"You disappoint me," Drift began with one of the harshest things he'd said to Wing after they had shared a berth. "Knights are better than that."

"Even Knights have a breaking point," was the response. "You're _mine_. And I don't share."

It was hard to miss the slight flare in Drift's field, the approval of the statement, the truth of it. Drift _liked_ that Wing didn't want to share him.

"Don't you trust me?" Drift asked, the hurt also real as he unpacked the elaborate set of needles and long, thin blades.

"I trust you," Wing answered. "But _I_ am territorial. And he got too close to what's mine." A growl rose from the jet's vocalizer.

Again _desire-approval_ flared in Drift's field before being forced to settle. "Unfortunately, we won't be leaving this room until we break you of that. You aren't safe in public."

"I'm fine as long as the public knows to keep their hands to themselves," Wing grumbled, watching his mate as several long needles were selected and Drift finally turned to face him.

Optics met. "_Mine_," Wing growled possessively. It was hard not to enjoy the slight shiver that swept through his mate.

With his free hand, Drift pressed a palm over Wing's spark and locked optics. "_Mine._"

Golden optics flared possessively, his field pulsing against Drift's and reveled in the way he was answered. "The gold one should have kept his distance. If the bigger one hadn't gotten in the way, I would have taught him to keep away."

Drift leaned in close, their chest plates nearly brushing. "If you'd given me another klik, he would have learned _without_ this having to come between us."

While he spoke, his free hand moved casually before sliding a needle precisely into the joint under Wing's shoulder, where arm met side, directly into a complex control cluster.

Whatever Wing had been about to say was cut off when the needle went in, a shiver running through his body. The wing on that side twitched. The jet remained silent, optics fixed on his mate.

"You know I'm going to get the answer I need out of you," Drift took in the reaction before lowering his hand to press a needle into the hip joint right next to the spike cover.

This time a faint hiss escaped and a stronger shiver went through Wing's frame, though he still didn't say anything. Possessiveness and defiance flared in his field.

"I was taught by the best, and I'm motivated," Drift continued, accepting the hiss and the field reply as a third needle found its mark in the joint of Wing's other leg, locking it in place with the tension cables stretched to joint the point of discomfort that would turn to numbing pain as the joors wore on.

"I'm not sorry for attacking him," Wing hissed, his wings twitching in reaction to the pain curling through his sensor net. "_Mine_."

"Yours," Drift confirmed without hesitation, then suddenly cocked his helm. "I wonder. How long would you remain defiant if you weren't the one to suffer for your actions," he said somewhat absently as he turned to get a dozen more needles.

Wing blinked at that, tilting his helm ever so slightly, narrowed golden optics regarding his mate. Tiny tremors of pain were still running through him, though the pain was bearable and he had a fairly high pain threshold. He knew Drift well enough to realize that he'd _need_ it if his mate was this calm, and this set on avoiding damage.

"After all, it's more my fault than yours," Drift continued, turning around to approach his mate. "I know you're possessive. I don't discourage it because I _enjoy_ it in you. I saw you coming. I _let_ that civilian take the brunt of the damage before I acted. You lost control, but I failed in my oaths."

Drift was going to be in for a surprise when he found out just who that civilian really was, Wing thought to himself, letting no trace of his thoughts show on his face. He watched his mate approach, eying the needles in his hands.

"Not sure why you're facing penance before I am, but I have a lot to answer for before I get out of here."

This close, Wing had the sick realization that Drift believed the words to be true ... and under the law, they _were_.

Wing bit his glossa to keep from saying anything, merely letting out a low growl at the thought. He didn't trust himself to respond verbally without giving _something_ away. His thoughts were derailed by the next needle as it found a home under his jawline, in between various cables and tubing to settle in the middle of a major sensor cluster and one of the primary gyroscopes at the base of the helm.

The hiss was stronger this time, breaking into a faint whine at the end. White wings tightened against his back, tight enough that they actually ached. Wing's fingers twitched, curling around the cable suspending him from the ceiling.

"Pain's cleansing for you ... pure like this," Drift considered his love and pierced the next needle through Wing's left wrist. "You won't have a mark on you a breem after I pull them out."

Wing gritted his dental plates, taking the pain. His pinions were flattened against his nacelles, wings twitching on his back, but otherwise he wasn't moving, and not just because of the long needles holding his legs locked in place to avoid much stronger pain.

"I'm sure Redline will appreciate it as much as he _hates_ the way I come out," Drift said, apparently just talking to fill the silence. "If I see you before a decaorn is out from when you're sane again, I'll be surprised."

A huff of air escaped Wing's vents. As if he'd stay away from his mate. He eyed the needles in Drift's hands warily as one was selected and Drift regarded him critically.

"You know you won't be allowed to see me during my penance, and I won't see you in medical stasis," Drift pointed out, then calmly slid the selected needle into the under-joint of Wing's left shoulder.

Wing let out a soft whine as the needle went in, pain flickering through his field. He fought to stay still, to not try and twist away from the needles as each one brought a new level, and frequently a new kind of pain that wouldn't go away.

Drift leaned in, their fields meshing fully before Wing felt soft lips against his own. "Love you. I'm yours. Only yours." Fierce ice blue optics locked with pain hazed golden. "Are you sorry for what you did?"

"Not sorry," Wing growled, his optics flaring. He felt resignation, annoyance and frustration flicker through Drift's field before the grounder settled himself into silence as another needle was selected.

As the pain bolted down his arm from a thumb-joint, he also realized that Drift hadn't disengaged their fields. Both lovers would feel this, Drift only slightly less than Wing.

The whimper that escaped this time was half pain and half protest, gold optics glaring blearily at the white grounder. Wing's pinions made a whining sound as they tried to close down even tighter, his wings flaring out partway.

"_We_ did this. _We_ will suffer." Drift growled softly, they mouth plates only a breath apart. "I failed to protect you, again."

Wing made a sound that might have been him attempting to say something, but the pain he was in was taking away any capacity for coherent speech. He settled for a growl-whine of protest.

"After we bond, _every_ penance will hurt us both," Drift said calmly, the echoes of pain evident in his voice as he did nothing to hide it. He walked around to Wing's back and slid a hand enticingly along the channel that normally held Too Pure For This World. A needle was lightly pressed into the joint of a clamp for the sword, then another, all the way down Wing's back.

The whine this time was clearly a muffled shriek, Wing's whole body trembling. The pain was rapidly increasing, threatening to go over even his considerable threshold. While wings snapped open, trembling, exposing the sensitive joints.

Drift immediately took advantage of it. The first two needles locked the wings in place, fully extended, unless Wing was willing to break the delicate mechanisms that gave him control over the sensitive appendages. With slow precision and an unhurried manner that belayed just how much pain he was in, Drift began to slide needles into every joint on the short, slender wings.

Wing _shrieked_. He fought to hold still, but against his will his body tried to twist away from the pain, sending more vicious stabs through his sensor net from the other needles already embedded in his circuitry. His wings trembled from bases to tips, pinions flaring once before clamping shut again.

Nearly delirious, he was still aware of Drift standing behind him, regarding him and soaking in his agony.

~Are you sorry for what you have done?~ Drift asked across their meshed fields, well aware that Wing was beyond using his vocalizer for speech. It was down to sensations now.

The response from Wing's field indicated that he was getting there, but wasn't there quite yet. The gold optics had turned off; Wing couldn't see through the pain anyway.

Drift walked around to face his love and still for a long time, simply watching, seeing if time would do the last of the work, or if he needed to continue.

In the corner of his processors that was still Deadlock, that would always be Deadlock, irrational glee bubbled up and suggestions flowed freely, all within the terms of the penance, for Drift to use.

Wing panted heavily, all vents open, making tiny mewling sounds of pain. All his weight was suspended from his shoulder joints now, locked legs not holding him. He still had a _little_ farther to go before he broke, even after a full breem.

With an unhappy sound Drift picked up a rod the width of his wrist and half the length of his forearm. When he approached Wing he reached between the mech's useless legs and scraped his fingers along the valve cover.

Wing shivered all over, trying to lean away and not getting anywhere. His valve cover remained stubbornly closed.

A low grumble came from Drift's engine and he curled his fingers, catching the edge and tearing it off. With little more warning, the rod was pushed in until it pressed against the very top. A small click indicated it had locked into place around the rim.

Wing yelped in surprise, his optics flaring on even though he could barely see through the agony already inflicted on him. An odd-sounding squeak escaped him as the rod was inserted, and he made a few tiny attempts to squirm away, though it was pointless.

Drift's fingers remained there, he kept his frame close and their fields meshed tightly. His fingers ghosted around the soft, sensor-laden platelets surrounding the valve entrance, then over the end of the rod. With a pulse it activated sending a dozen spring-loaded blades into the dry valve lining to puncture and slice as they spiraled around.

Wing howled in pain, unable to stop his back from arching. The pain from the needles drove his voice from a howl to a throat-tearing shriek, probably causing Drift's audials to ring, as close as they were. Wing's optics flickered madly for a long moment, his field roiling with agony. The last of the defiance seeped out, replaced by submission.

He was done.

Now ... could _Drift_ read his state, and make the right choice.

The grounder was venting hard, his frame actually touching Wing's as he experienced what he inflicted. A punishment for himself, but also to push Deadlock's violent coding back down. He didn't _want_ to be done.

His own penance would be a long, brutal one, one more suited to Vortex's skills than a Knight's. A simple binding wouldn't cleanse this from Drift.

A small tremor passed through Drift's frame as he reached between Wing's legs and deactivated the device, pulling it out with a rush of energon. The only damage that needed to be repaired was to the source of their troubles in Drift's processors.

Drift's need for his penance was barely in check and he forced his fingers not to tremble as he began removing the needles from Wing's frame. Beginning with what he knew were the most painful at the moment and working to the merely inconvenient.

Wing made a soft whimper of pain as the rod was removed, then shivered as the needles were removed. His optics remained off, body going limp as the needles holding him stiff were taken out.

A ping was sent to Redline telling him it was over for Wing when the last needle was removed. Drift stepped in front of his barely conscious mate and rested his forehelm against Wing's. "Don't do that again."

Wing vented air with a soft huff, as much of a response as he was capable of. Golden optics flickered weakly before fading out again.

Redline arrived quickly, Dai Atlas with him. The blue mech's gaze swept the room, lingering on the needles before settling on Drift. The grounder stepped away from his mate without a word and went to put his tools away.

No matter what he _wanted_ at the moment, he had to trust another to give him what he _needed_.

Dai Atlas stepped aside to allow Redline and his assistants to take Wing away, then turned his ruby gaze back on Drift. "I will see to your penance myself," the blue mech rumbled.

Drift looked at his leader and inclined his helm in a calm submission bordering on eagerness. He made a mute wave to the tools, asking if he should leave them out.

Dai Atlas' optics took in the tools. One long wing flicked as he tilted his helm, walking over to inspect the needles, the electro-whip, the stun baton, the variety of blades that had no business in a warrior's collection. Some of the items he returned to the box. Others he left out.

Burning ruby optics turned to Drift. "If you are ready."

Icy blue met his, and for a brief moment Dai Atlas saw ... likely what Wing had always seen. Vulnerability, pain, self-hatred on a level few survived. There too, down at the core of it all, was a _need_ to see things right.

The lost, abused and unsocialized youth that only knew how to fight that had first come to New Crystal City had matured into a fine young Knight, one the Order's leader could be proud of.

Now it was up to him to beat that fact into Drift in the language both their sparks understood.


	15. When Penance Works

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Drift/Wing, GoldenRod/Titanium  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 for Violence  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Violence, Ritualized Violence, Graphic Sexual Violence  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

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><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 15: When Penance Works<strong>

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><p>Dai Atlas stood in the medical bay, arms over his chest, his mate and creation standing nearby, waiting. Redline was nearly finished with Drift. The white mech had been a wreck following his own penance at the Circle leader's hands, having required repair twice before the ordeal had finally ended and he entered Redline's tender care for a final time. In all, Wing had spent nine nights alone. Drift's pain threshold and ability to take a brutal thrashing both surprised and unnerved the blue triple changer.<p>

Wing had looked mournful but far from surprised as Drift's penance dragged on. He and Axe had taken some comfort in each other's company, and more in sparing, but like all other and future times, in the end they knew this was what their mates needed to do and took comfort in knowing they would both return.

The test was over. The penances were over. It was time to explain to Drift just what had gone down, explain just what had been set up without his knowing. As soon as the white grounder came to.

Redline stepped back, turning to look up at the larger mech. "Drift is coming out of stasis. He will be waking up shortly."

Dai Atlas inclined his helm to the medic, moving to stand at the end of the berth Drift occupied. He waited as the white mech booted up, watching as icy blue optics flickered and came dimly online, then dimmed briefly into a light recharge.

Wing smiled and briefly vibrated in pleasure. For Drift to have come so far, to slip into recharge before checking out his surroundings, was a delight. But his mate needed to listen right now. A soft, multi-tone trill made Drift turn his face towards his mate and boot his optics with a small smile.

"Hay," the grounder murmured, focused only on fluttering slender wings and the pleased smile.

Wing practically pounced on his mate, wrapping his arms around the white grounder's shoulders and giving him a thorough kiss. His purring never stopped as the embrace and kiss was returned.

Dai Atlas smiled slightly, waiting patiently as they welcomed each other and reassured themselves with touch and field. He understood all too well that this wasn't a simple reunion. One had committed grave violence against the other; even Knights needed to be sure they'd been forgiven and welcomed back by their other half.

In a way it was healing for the leader as well, knowing that this most brutal of challenges had not broken them apart.

Wing clearly was reluctant to let go. It took the blue triple changer finally cycling his vocalizer loudly to remind Wing of where they were and what had to happen, and the white jet finally broke the kiss. But he didn't go far, choosing to settle on the edge of Drift's med berth, twining his fingers with Drift's.

The big blue mech waited until Drift's optics focused on him, Dai Atlas' face impassive before a slight smile finally appeared. "You have passed your final test, Drift."

A bewildered look crossed Drift's features before comprehension settled in, and he nodded slowly. Acceptance calmly replaced comprehension, at least for his leader. For Wing, there was a bright smile, a flash of pride and Drift squeezed his lover's hand in a victory he wasn't even aware he was trying for.

Long red-trimmed white wings twitched. "It was... not easy to prepare for. All Knights must face that test, but facing that knowledge when the one being tested is as close as one's own sparkling is... difficult, to say the least."

Shock flashed across Drift's entire frame and he was suddenly focused on Wing, his grip tightening to just shy of causing pain before he looked back at Dai Atlas. "It was set up. You know those two."

"The golden mech, GoldenRod, I only just met recently," Dai Atlas replied, shifting his weight. "His mate Titanium, on the other hand, is a very old friend of mine. He and I served together on Cybertron long before the Circle of Light was founded or left Cybertron."

Attention flicked to Wing. "You knew?"

White wings twitched, Wing's pinions flattening to his nacelles. "I helped arrange it. I spoke with both Titanium and GoldenRod when we asked them for help." The jet looked down, his free hand slowly closing into a fist.

Drift stilled, regarding his mate with a mixture of confusion and disturbance.

"Wing ... did you _really_ need that much?" Drift finally asked, his field reaching out to caress Wing, trying to express how much he hated pushing his mate that far, but not that he hated Wing for any part of events.

Wing's field wrapped around Drift's expressing just how much he'd hated having to push Drift that far. "I had to take it as far as I could. I'm sorry for having to make you do that..."

Drift squeezed his hand again, this time expressing forgiveness.

Dai Atlas shifted again. "GoldenRod and Titanium are still here; they've been laying low to stay out of sight and out of your way. I ask that you do not react to them with violence. They were only doing what Wing, myself, and Axe asked of them."

"Will GoldenRod keep his hands to himself now?" Drift asked, not quite willing to give his word, though he knew he would.

"He only behaved like that because he had to provoke me," Wing told Drift. "He and Titan are bonded. Goldie will not bother you that way again."

"Good," Drift tugged his mate down for a kiss of welcome news. "I won't resent them for their part then."

Wing purred into the kiss, then tugged lightly on Drift's hand. "I think you've spent enough time in here..."

"Definitely," Redline glared at them. "Do try to make it to your quarters this time. No need to scandalize Marwir."

"But she's _fun_ to scandalize," Drift chuckled and rolled smoothly to his pedes.

Wing laughed. "You have entirely too much fun messing with her." He nuzzled Drift, humming happily, before tugging him toward the door. Dai Atlas moved aside, watching them with amusement and privately calculating the odds of them making it to their quarters before one of them was pinned against a wall.

"Very low," Axe chuckled and playfully bumped his shoulder against his mate's. "Come on, you can comm Titan with the good news on the way to our quarters. _We_ need some mate-time too, after that."

Dai Atlas' response was cut off by the medbay doors closing. Drift swept Wing into a hug and fierce kiss.

Wing trilled softly, happily, wrapping his arms around his mate and holding him tightly. The kiss was returned with equal passion, Wing's glossa flirting with Drift's. His nacelles revved slightly against Drift's spaulders and were rewarded with a rumbling moan from Drift's engine.

When the kiss broke, Drift kept their mouths close, his words barely a sultry whisper. "So does this mean we can bond soon?"

Wing's golden optics widened in surprise before a wash of joy swept through his field. It was a very definite non-verbal "YES".

A cocky smile greeted the shock before Drift pressed forward for another kiss, gently backing Wing against the wall and dug fingers into the seams of Wing's hips. "Your creators threatened me with an existence of misery if I made you wait any longer than I had to."

Wing pressed his back against the wall, returning the kiss eagerly, his own fingers hooking into the seams of Drift's back plating. "Why am I not surprised," he replied with a slightly breathy chuckle.

"Berth!" Dai Atlas barked at them when he exited the medbay with Axe to discover the couple hadn't even made the corner yet.

Wing almost took off, he was so startled. He blinked at the two larger mechs, then wrapped his arms tightly around Drift, choosing to fly them to their quarters. They all heard Axe's roar of laughter follow them, but either cared. Drift was too focused to clinging on for dear life to care, but the rush and heat of his mate against him as they flew was arousing in it's own right.

Wing's hold on Drift tightened, pulling the white grounder closer to his chassis as the jet headed for the balcony of their quarters, easily dodging a couple of other fliers as they went. Landing gently on their balcony, he tugged Drift inside, making a beeline for the berth with his compliant but quite keyed up mate.

They tumbled onto the soft surface, Drift controlling it to settle with Wing on top of him and one leg wrapped around the jet's. Wing purred, settling gently over Drift, leaning down to kiss him passionately. Black hands roamed over Drift's white armor, slowly exploring and caressing.

Drift reached for wings, stroking as he moaned into the kiss and contact. His field reached out to mesh with Wing's, sharing the pleasure and their mutual joy at having the long wait nearly over. They had spoken of bonding rarely, never in depth, but in this moment there was no hiding that both were eager.

Wing obligingly spread his wings, tilting them into Drift's hands. He nibbled delicately at Drift's lower lip plate, stroking his palms down Drift's sides and around to his back, over his pelvic mounting, brushing over Drift's hip-mounted scabbards.

With a deep shudder and moan Drift rocked his hips into the touch, his field expressing how little patience he had left for warming up. The soft click of an interface panel wasn't a surprise, though when Wing realized which one had slid open it was a bit of one.

The jet gave a purring chuckle, shifting position slightly as he released his spike, nudging the tip against the rim of Drift's valve. Wing's optics glowed a soft, warm gold as they met cool blue. Trust was there, an offering Drift rarely gave even to Wing. Drift spread his legs a bit more and rolled his hips forward; offering, encouraging, _wanting_.

Shifting his hips, Wing slid his spike into Drift's valve, smooth and slow, until he was fully sheathed. A slight shiver ran through the white jet's frame, his engines purring as Drift moaned and tried not to squirm too much at the alien but pleasurable sensations.

Strong black hands gripped onto Wing's shoulders when the jet smoothly pulled his hips back, pulling his spike almost fully out of the slick, hot valve that didn't want to let it go.

Wing chirred softly, leaning down to nuzzle against Drift's chest and neck as he slid back in, changing the angle slightly, so that his spike slid over another set of nodes. Settling into a steady rhythm, he slid one hand over Drift's chassis, dipping into armor seams and joints, stroking the systems and wiring underneath.

Within a klik Drift had lost most of his ability to think, but he hardly cared. Every time he offered his trust to Wing he came that much closer to being ready to offer his spark to bond. That had been something else he'd had lectures on; he had to be _ready_ to offer everything before he tried. He'd never expected becoming ready to trust Wing that deeply would have been so pleasurable.

A soft whine of need escaped Drift's vocalizer and he unlocked his chest plates, sliding them smoothly open as he rocked into every thrust of his lover.

There was a soft click as Wing's chestplates unlocked in response, the complex armor sliding open to bare the jet's spark, shining and pulsing, already reaching out for Drift's. Wing's hips never paused in their steady rhythm as he leaned down, bringing his spark close to Drift's. Gold reached out for red, entwining and mingling into a dozen shades of orange.

Drift nearly screamed as the pleasure he still had no grasp of how to control crashed through his systems, quickly overtaking the pleasure of his valve.

Wing made a sound that was part trill and part keen, all vents open, trying to draw in enough air to cool his systems. His hips picked up the pace, driving harder and faster into Drift's valve, the jet turning off his optics briefly as his very essence twined around his mate's until it would be very difficult to tell where one ended and the other began.

Drift's hands found wing joints and gripped, pulling Wing closer before he surrendered fully. His spark gleefully welcomed it's other half. Their previous merges, rare as they were, had gone a long way towards conditioning both their sparks to perceive the other as the missing part of a bond that only one had ever possessed, but both had desperately wanted.

Wing's spark nearly purred, just like Wing himself was, wrapping around Drift's, only holding back that one tiny bit that kept them from bonding fully. Memories and emotions swept through them, pleasure building between them, echoing from one to the other, gaining intensity.

No longer was there any fear of hurting the other with dark memories or pain. They had both seen the worst the other had to offer and knew it wouldn't drive him away. Memories were sweet, full of longing and joy, bound by pleasure, their sparks seeking that perfect moment as ardently as their frames did.

Armor rattled as they keened, thrusting and stiff, as the bliss built to a pinnacle.

White wings and pinions flared as Wing reached overload, keening Drift's designation, his fingers tightening on white armor. His hips jerked slightly, his transfluid filling Drift's valve, setting off all the nodes at once. If Drift wasn't already lost to the bliss of his spark he would have roared, but as it stood the pleasure was too much to processes and he dropped off line, his spark and frame radiating contentment.

Wing collapsed on top of Drift, barely conscious himself as he panted heavily, vents and joints steaming slightly, his nacelles spooling down from their high rev. He barely registered his chest armor sliding closed again as he gently slid his spike from Drift's valve, curling up against the white grounder. His mate. Stretching a possessive wing over Drift, Wing let himself doze, purring very softly.

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><p>It was late midmorning the next orn when Wing and Drift finally emerged from their quarters, making their way to the main levels of the Citadel for energon in the common recreation room there. Dai Atlas and Axe were easy to spot, due to their size, and standing with them were two other mechs. One was bright, gleaming golden and as such immediately recognizable. The other was as tall as the Knight leader, silver and purple and carrying two swords across his back. He was standing with his back to Wing and Drift, and his spread wings were showing a very distinctive red marking stamped on each.<p>

Drift stopped in place, his attention locked on the insignia he had removed from his spaulders and chest not long ago. After a moment he cocked his helm. "I'm guessing your creator's friend is Titanium."

"That's him, yes," Wing agreed, tugging his mate toward the group. "He's older than Dai is, and has some very amusing stories from when they served together."

It was the golden mech who noticed them first, bright blue optics turning curiously in their direction. Spotting Drift, GoldenRod turned, revealing a matching red crest on his own chestplate, nodding a greeting. His expression was merely curious, his body language neutral.

Drift met it with a similar neutrality, though less curiosity. The pair had earned a chance to earn his respect since Wing thought well of them, but for Drift that wasn't enough to be _friendly_.

GoldenRod inclined his helm. "I apologize for my behavior before. I guess I didn't make the greatest first impression."

"No," Drift agreed, extending his field in a polite greeting that acknowledged their mutual ties through both the Autobots and Knights. "I understand the reason for it now."

Titanium turned, looking down at Drift, nodding a friendly greeting to Wing. "It would have been preferable for our first meeting to have been under better circumstances, but we were asked a favor, and we chose to help." The big triple offered a hand. "I'm Titanium, one of the few swordsmechs roaming out there. I've heard of you."

"I've heard of you," Drift accepted the shake. "Will you be staying long?"

"Probably another few orns, then we'll be leaving again," Titanium replied. "Maybe a bit longer, depending. First chance we've had for a rest somewhere no one is looking askance at me for having red optics."

"And he's not quite finished embarrassing Atlas," GoldenRod drawled, grinning at Dai Atlas's grumble.

Drift smirked at that and Wing snickered. "Finally, someone who can take him down a notch or six."

Titanium's grin was wicked. "I served with him, and we tended to be barracked in the same area because the three of us..." he indicated himself, Dai Atlas, and Axe, "...were the three biggest, and all triple changers. I've accumulated quite a bit of material during that time."

Dai Atlas glowered. Titanium ignored him.

Icy blue optics glittered with delight. "I'm sure you have," he purred deeply. "No wonder he wants you gone in only a few orns. He's mated to the only other mecha to know such things."

GoldenRod chuckled.

Titanium tilted his helm at Drift. "So this is where you ended up... By now everyone has heard that you left Earth, saying only that you were going home. Prowl was not pleased. He told pretty much everyone to be on the lookout for you. We were supposed to give you a message from Prowl, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was." The big triple made a great show of scratching his helm and looking thoughtful, then he shrugged. "Getting forgetful in my old age." One ruby optic winked at the smaller white mech.

Dai Atlas let out a snort. "You remember every embarrassing thing I have ever done through my entire career. 'Getting forgetful' my _aft_."

"I transmitted my resignation," Drift's stance turned a touch defiant, though no one doubted it was directed at the Autobot SIC. "Unless the message is 'have a good existence,' he can remember he has no authority over me anymore."

Titanium shrugged. "Whatever he wanted to say, I don't remember what it was. And he will not find out where you are from me." He turned to smirk at Dai Atlas. "Insignificant information doesn't stick in my memory; it never has. Juicy embarrassing stuff does stick. I've got enough to make sure no one in this city will be able to take you seriously for the foreseeable future." He flicked his wings. "So, I'll leave it to you to arrange the dogfighting?"

The Knight leader eyed the other big triple for a moment, then nodded. "I'll let you know when the arrangements are complete."

With that Wing flicked his wings in a pleasant goodbye. "Let's get our energon," he suggested and tugged on Drift's arm to direct them towards the common room for energon before his tanks growled at him. He knew no one doubted what they'd been up to since Drift's release from the medbay, but that didn't mean he wanted an audible reminder to everyone.

Drift's field wasn't helping. Wing's soon-to-be-bonded was low on energy, but he was also still eager to return to their berth.

Slender white wings fluttered as he led Drift into the common room, making a beeline for the energon dispensers. A few other Knights were scattered through the room, chatting casually with each other. Several called greetings to Wing and Drift that were returned, but no one expected the pair to remain long. It was no secret that they were still more partial to getting their hands on each other than socializing most orns.

After the meal, Wing bounced over to the counter to pay for the food while the other two waited, both still slightly blissed out from the experience. The jet was smiling brightly as he rejoined them, tugging them gently out of the restaurant.

Wing retrieved two cubes of energon, one grounder mid-grade and one jet mid-grade, handing the grounder energon to Drift. Snagging a couple of extra cubes, Wing stashed them in subspace for later. Drift gave him a wicked grin and grabbed a wing to pull him from the room, leaving a few snickers behind them.

Of the many things one could say about Drift, subtle was not among them.

Wing yipped in surprise, which dissolved into a laugh as he followed his mate back to their quarters. He liked Drift's forwardness. Shivering in anticipation of what that grin heralded, Wing leaned against Drift's shoulder, humming softly as they drank, walked and Drift teased his mate with all the delicious thoughts he was having now that walking was no longer a chore.

Most of those thoughts centered on Wing's spark and all the things Drift could do besides merge with it.

Wing was already purring loud enough that he was vibrating ever so slightly when they finally got back to their quarters, his wings partly flared in excited anticipation. His field, merged with Drift's, was bright with eagerness. The door had barely closed and Drift had him against the wall, kissing him for all he was worth.

"Want you," Drift moaned, his hands roaming the frame he loved so much it hurt at times. All plans at taking it slow and teasing his love fled at the promise of having that spark entangled with his own again. "Don't want to wait."

Wing returned the kiss with equal heat, his hands all over Drift's frame, nacelles revving against Drift's spaulders. "I would suggest not waiting, but then my creators would have both our helms," was the amused reply.

A low chuckle and flare of amusement greeted that as Drift lowered his helm to kiss down the seam of Wing's chest plates.

Wing took the opportunity to nibble delicately at the tip of one of Drift's audial finials, tracing the edge with his glossa before taking the tip in his mouth. One hand came up to stroke the other, tracing the elegant lines of Drift's helm. Wing's chestplates unlocked, offering. Soft lip plates brushed against the crystalline casing. Warm air from Drift's vents blew around it. Their mingled fields cracked with desire.

Wing let out a soft cry, his hands tightening briefly on Drift's armor. His body trembled, knees threatening to give way, only Drift's body pressed against his holding him upright against the wall. White wings flared open, trembling. Slowly, Wing's spark casing opened, golden light gleaming on Drift's white armor.

A low moan vibrated the air between them as Drift really _looked_ at the golden orb his spark was calling for for the first time. Tiny wisps of spark energy reached out for him, danced across his faceplates until he trembled against the cries of his own spark. He _wanted_ to tease, to play and explore with the physical soul that was Wing.

His spark has other ideas.

Wing made a soft keening, his hands skittering over Drift's armor, his spark wanting its other half so badly it hurt. Reaching tendrils stroked over Drift's faceplate and helm, wanting to entwine with red, to bring their sparks together.

A soft whimper escaped Drift and he stood, his chest plates unlocking and spreading wide. Chests pressed together, granting the sparks their desire when Drift pressed Wing against the wall to kiss him.

Almost as soon as they were close enough for reaching threads of energy to meet, both sparks were wrapping around each other happily, glowing in dozens if not hundreds of shades of orange. Stray threads flicked out to brush over their frames' circuitry, fueling the pair's building ecstasy.

Wing returned the kiss every bit as fiercely, his fingers hooking gently into Drift's spaulders, letting out a soft keen into Drift's mouth.

Driven by their sparks, both frames trembled and keened, joints locking almost immediately to maintain the spark contact against the jerking tremors that were taking over.

White pinions and wings spread wide, Wing's whole body twitching and shivering, keening Drift's name. His optics shut off, the white jet's helm thrown back, arms wrapped tightly around his lover's frame.

The pleas of their sparks to end the torture of remaining unbonded were pushed aside with difficulty, only the discipline of their training holding either back from agreeing.

With a keening scream Drift lost control first, the overload driven by his spark still too new to be managed the way Wing, with his centuries of experience as a bonded mech could.

Wing's arms tightened around Drift, the jet bracing himself against the wall as he reached overload with a shriek or pure ecstasy. Centuries of experience with being bonded and merging sparks or not, it was still overwhelming.

As he finally came spiraling back down from that incredible high, he caught Drift as the white grounder fell offline, keeping Drift from crashing to the floor. He was shaky was he lowered both of them. There was no point in even trying to make a softer surface, his knee joints wouldn't support him, much less both of them.


	16. Skydancing

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>:  
><strong>Rating<strong>:  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU,  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

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><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 16: Skydancing<strong>

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><p>It was one Pit of a display, that was for sure.<p>

The sky over New Crystal City and a good stretch of the desert outside the city was full of airframes, darting and racing about in intricate patterns. In the thick of things was a large silver and purple airframe, wings raked forward instead of swept back, the most skilled of all the fliers at the evading and offensive aerial techniques.

Titanium had taken up Axe's suggestion of dogfighting with the fliers of the city, the whole swarm taking to the air en masse. It had taken everyone by surprise the first time the big triple changer had opened fire, but it had swiftly become obvious that his weapons were loaded with small balls of paint. Anyone he shot remained unharmed, just ending up sporting brightly colored blotches all over their wings and bodies.

The roaring of jet engines and the darting shapes of the fliers had quickly drawn the attention of most of the city. Thousands of mechs and femmes had gathered to watch, exclaiming at the maneuvers and the stunts or just staring in silent surprise. Most of the city had turned out to watch, except for those who absolutely had to be on shift.

Among the fliers in the air was Wing, the agile white jet weaving between his larger or slightly less agile comrades, white paint flashing brightly, darting and swooping and weaving, showing off. The other fliers had immediately recognized a courtship display, and that news had spread to the grounders. Wing's antics were watched with admiration, everyone well aware of just who the white jet was courting.

Even the target of the display knew, and though Drift needed no convincing to accept Wing's proposal he puffed his armor and locked onto that dancing frame in the middle of mass combat. He was ready to admit his mate was impressive in the air and knew how to use his overpowered light frame to best advantage.

It made Drift ache, wanting to be up there, with his mate. To show that he was worthy of the jet.

It was the first time in his existence he had wanted something he couldn't have because of physics, rather than politics.

Despite the size of his alt, by far the largest on the field, Titanium was an agile flier. Flipping onto his side, he twisted almost on a wingtip, darting through the narrow gap between two other fliers, both flinching away reflexively, almost getting tangled with a gray and orange jet. Paintballs strafed all three before the Autobot hit the afterburners, darting out of range before cutting his engines entirely. The watching crowd gasped in shock as Titanium dropped more than a hundred feet, twisting in mid-air before reigniting his turbines and tearing off in a different direction entirely.

Wing darted through the resulting confusion at high speed, making it look almost effortless. He'd also had paintball weapons mounted on his frame, with some help from an amused GoldenRod, and had landed a few hits on the big silver and purple Autobot already.

The gold mech himself stood not far away from Drift, on the other side of another grounder Knight. He leaned over to look at Drift briefly. "You're not the only one who wishes they could be up there," the gold Autobot noted, looking up at the sky again.

Drift hummed his understanding. "Never like being left out of a fight."

Despite the words, GoldenRod could feel that Drift had many more reasons. He just wasn't about to _say_ them, no matter how common they were.

"It's the freedom I envy," the gold mech replied. "I'm like Tracks... I actually can glide despite being a grounder. But I can't go very high and I have no maneuverability. Not built for it. Titan takes me up with him sometimes, but I'm not a flier; knowing that I have no way to catch myself if I fall gives me the surges. I prefer to keep my wheels on the ground. But that doesn't stop me from being jealous of fliers."

A slow, thoughtful nod answered the commentary. Eventually Drift spoke again. "I can't fly at all. Just fall. I swear it's hardwired in grounders to get twitchy up there."

"Would explain why a fear of heights seems to come standard in most grounders, even those of us who have limited capabilities in alt mode." GoldenRod nodded. "Knowing just how helpless we are once we're off the ground..." He shuddered at the thought.

"Sideswipe must have a flier's core coding, then," Drift chuckled, remembering the crazy red twin. "Mech loved to fly with that jetpack."

"Sideswipe is insane, end of story," GoldenRod snorted. "And he has no sense of self-preservation. Ya know, he actually tried Jet Judo on Titan once. But _only_ the once."

Another Knight airframe, covered in a bright rainbow of blotches, came spiraling down, clearly having been "shot down" one too many times. Cheerful teasing accompanied the "defeated" flier's landing, along with laughter at the discovery that a good half of those colorful blotches glowed in the dark.

"The washracks are going to get a workout tonight," Drift snickered.

"Wing's good," GoldenRod said after a moment. "I would bet good credits that he'll be one of the last fliers in the air with Titan."

"He will be," Drift said with unmistakable pride. "But he and his cadre have a major advantage over just about everyone else here."

He tilted his helm toward Drift curiously. "Oh?"

Overhead, Titanium cut one engine, whipping around and roaring back the way he'd come, scattering the tight swarm that had been after him in all directions. There was utter chaos for a moment as fliers tried to avoid running into each other. A sleek white form darted through the swarm like an oversized hummingbird, streaking after the silver and purple Autobot. On Wing's right flank was a slightly smaller dark maroon and black jet of the same frametype. On his left was the most elegant of the fliers, slightly larger and touched with highlights of red, green, dark blue and royal purple over a frame that was nearly as much wing as fuselage.

The youngest Knight chuckled. "They're the only ones with any credible combat experience outside of Dai Atlas, Axe and Titan," he pointed out. "They have plenty of it too, as a cadre and solo. That's Marwir and Talon with him. Frankly, Talon's the scary one of the lot."

GoldenRod nodded. "Makes sense. Flying real combat against other fliers is the best way to sharpen one's skills. If they ever want a _real_ challenge, let us know, and we'll point Titanus in this direction. You might've heard of him. He's the best Autobot stunt flyer, and our only teleporter."

Mechs ducked as Titanium came down in a ground-scorching dive, still keeping well above the crowd. There was a squawk from the direction of Dai Atlas, indicating that he'd gotten paintballed in the pass. A moment later the large blue triple changer was off the ground.

GoldenRod threw back his helm and laughed. "That's _one_ way to get him into the air..."

Drift smirked, trying to suppress his snickers as the two giants began a dance that left even Wing in envy.

GoldenRod laughed, then glanced over to the shadow where Dai Atlas had been standing. "Are you going to go play with them, or are you just going to laugh at your mate?"

Axe snorted. "I'll join them. Eventually."

The other fliers in the air had drawn back a bit, watching as Titanium and Dai Atlas dove and spun, swerved and evaded, chasing each other in a wild aerial dance, leaving the less experienced fliers in their proverbial dust.

"I'm not sure whether to be glad or disappointed he's leaving," one of the paint-dapped Knights commented.

"Disappointed," the one standing next to him snickered. "Who else can keep our Master in check?"

GoldenRod laughed over at the two. "Dai offered Titan and myself a place here when we finally get tired of the endless fighting and roaming aimlessly around the galaxy. So you might be putting up with us permanently some time in the future. And Titan might be putting every winged mech in the Citadel through their paces up there."

"He can't be a worse taskmaster than Dai Atlas," the paint speckled one pointed out. "There isn't a Knight that wasn't Dai Atlas student or the student of one."

The gold mech flicked his spoiler. "Maybe, maybe not. He, Dai, and Axe actually flew as a wing for a while. So you never know."

Another engine roared nearby. Everyone looked up as Axe took off, joining the swirl of wings overhead. It quickly became clear that he was _not_ siding with his mate; this was a three-way free-for-all. Some of the maneuvers displayed were simply insane. Some should not even have been possible considering the strain loads on the airframes in question, yet they were still pulled off.

"I see they never downgraded their armor and reinforcements," Drift said absently, protocols running that were so ingrained in his existence he didn't even notice them ran the calculations of what was required to survive such moves and the best ways to take such a flyer down. Simply put, all three were _well_ out of his league. He'd need emplacements to have that kind of firepower.

"It probably never occurred to them," GoldenRod replied. "If it did, that ingrained paranoid streak of any career warrior, past or present, would quickly have dumped that idea." He watched the younger fliers scattering out of the way, forming a wide ring around the three elder mechs. All optics and sensors were glued to the blurs of black, blue, and silver/purple.

Wing found a perch overhead, the members of his cadre who hadn't been "shot down" already settling around him.

"That's what surviving that long does for you," a familiar voice greeted them as a deep maroon grounder walked up to them, his frame similar to Drift's but with even heavier armor.

"Kimark," Drift nodded absently to the only grounder in Wing's cadre. "It's true no matter the field."

"Titan's got a very slight edge because he has been actively fighting for millennia, while Dai and Axe have been here, but if they team up on him, it'll get interesting," GoldenRod mused, nodding to Kimark. "They flew together, so they know each other's design and flight tolerances. While Titan's systems have been tweaked over the centuries, only so much could have been done within the limits of his design, so his stats haven't changed that much."

Overhead, Dai Atlas was sporting bright blotches across one wing, while Axe had an interesting pattern across his fuselage. One of Titanium's wings was liberally spotted with bright purple from one of the other two.

"All three are fatal strikes if they were real," Drift said absently, his attention divided between the combat and his mate. He _wanted_ Wing down here where he could molest him properly after that display.

The gold mech chuckled. "True. But they're not real wounds, and they're probably going to continue until they're completely covered in paint. Or they might team up on the rest of the rookie fliers. Anything's possible."

Someone squawked overhead, fliers scattering as Dai Atlas dodged a volley of paintballs, the paint-filled orbs striking several of the watching airframes.

"I'm sure that the combat-seasoned fliers won't come down until their fuel runs low," Drift chuckled, earning a snort of agreement from Kimark.

"I don't think any of them even care if they have an audience anymore," Kimark added, watching with fascination, but also a critical optic. "Right now they're giving Talon a huge advantage."

"Don't count them out just yet," GoldenRod cautioned. "Any well-seasoned flier is difficult to catch off-guard."

Another of the watching jets got caught in the crossfire. Covered from helm to pede in colorful blotches, the flier descended, landing nearby, grumbling about the bright paint coating his armor.

Kimark snorted, a visible effort to reign in his temper at the perceived insult he knew wasn't intended. "Yours may be older, but mine aren't rookies. You watch. Talon's scary when he has time to _watch_."

One of the other watching fliers just then apparently got it into his cortex to sneak up and get all three of the elder mechs. As soon as he got close, all three suddenly turned on him, flying in a coordinated strike from three different directions. The startled flier ended up drenched in paint, scooting out of the way.

A moment later, paintballs struck Dai Atlas across the cockpit, drawing the blue jet's attention back to the silver-and-purple waggling long wings cheekily, and the free-for-all was on again.

The first warning that anything had changed was Drift drawing in a sharp breath of air.

GoldenRod looked up, seeing the three older mechs suddenly turning on the trio flying up to meet them. Now Titanium, Axe and Dai Atlas were in a three-on-three dogfight.

Wing and Marwir were incredibly fast and agile, managing to score hits across the wingtips of the larger mechs. The three bigger mechs managed, somehow, to get the two Ankmorian light jets into a crossfire, covering slender wings with bright patches. Axe managed to strafe right across Marwir, catching part of her fuselage as she dodged out of the way.

The black jet didn't even pick up Talon's strafing run on him until Titanium warned him. Early enough to avoid a killing strike, but not soon enough to avoid a line of neon across one wing and his nose.

Titanium sideslipped, cutting one engine and firing the other to whip around, catching Talon's wing before Talon could get out of his sights. Axe darted out of the way, using his unusual design for all it was worth as he pulled up, looping around Dai Atlas to catch Wing by surprise, covering the white jet's underside in neon colors.

"And Wing is out," GoldenRod noted, reaching over to poke Drift lightly.

The white jet's cheerful curse filtered through the roar of engines as he spiraled down, transforming to land next to Drift. He had just enough time to catch the wicked, promising grin on his mate's face and the intense arousal in his field before a black hand caught one wing and pulled the jet unceremoniously towards the tower that held their quarters.

Kimark snickered as they passed with a cheerful 'have fun' to both of them.

GoldenRod chuckled knowingly, flicking his spoiler and looking up to watch Marwir being taken out and the three elder mechs actively stalking Talon. "Won't be seeing them until mid-orn tomorrow, I would bet."

Wing yipped in surprise, then laughed, following his mate into the tower, the roar of engines fading behind them. "Have something in mind?" the paint-covered jet purred.

"One, get you white again," Drift did his best to sound disgusted by the jet's appearance, when the truth was it turned him on. "I had enough of multi-colored Wing to last a functioning on the trip here."

The lights in their quarters were turned off as they entered. Wing glowed in the dark, bright green and yellow and orange with some pink, and an odd shade of glowing purple. Looking down at himself, Wing laughed.

"Primus!" Drift let out a bark of laughter himself and tugged Wing towards their washrack. "Where _does_ that mech get his supplies?"

"It could be worse," Wing pointed out. "It could be glitter paint." He looked down at himself with amusement, letting himself be tugged toward the washrack.

Drift could only wince at that thought as he pulled Wing into the washrack and hit the solvent spray.

"Titan said that Goldie used glitter paint on Sunstreaker," Wing commented as he ducked under the spray, reaching for a brush only to have it snatched out of his hand. "I think I'd rather take the glow paint. Glitter gets _everywhere_."

"I think I'd have to mangle him by surprise if he got glitter all over me trying to clean you up so I can blow your circuits for that display," Drift's purr was one of desire rather than annoyance as he went to work on Wing's back.

Wing's response was a throaty chuckle. "I knew you had an ulterior motive." He leaned into the brush, letting his optic shutters droop closed in contentment.

"When _don't_ I have one when I drag you somewhere?" Drift snickered.

Outside, a howl of engines and a yelp announced that Talon had just lost to the three elder mechs.

"As annoyed as he's going to be, he lasted quite a while," Wing murmured, his turbines purring at Drift's firm touch and aroused field.

"Yes, but _you_," Drift pressed against his mate's paint-splattered back, "no more paying attention to the outside."

Wing laughed, leaning back into Drift's chassis, purring like a giant armor-plated feline. "Tomorrow I'm going to have to bug Titan and Goldie for pictures of my creators covered in paint." He fluttered his wings against Drift's chest, his own field expressing his desire.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll happily share," Drift laughed, kissing the back of Wing's neck before shifting away to work on the paint. "I'm sure Kimark will share more."

Wing's purr increased in volume, his back arching slightly into the brush. His wings slowly opened, paint-covered surfaces offered for the caress of the brush, the jet all but melting under the attention. The field against Wing's was rich with desire, but also intense pleasure at creating this reaction in Wing.

"Such a tactile mech," Drift purred, self-satisfied at the progress he was making. "Why don't you entertain me while I scrub you clean? Give me a new fantasy."

Half-lidded golden optics glowed over Wing's shoulder, the jet's spine curving sinuously into the brush. His wings performed an intricate little flutter, stretching toward the brush, the jet's aft rubbing lightly against Drift's hip.

A low rumble escaped Drift, his field flaring with desire. He focused on the brush, wanting his mate _clean_ before he lost his self control.

The paint-covered jet leaned back, into Drift. "Want your hands all over me," Wing purred, his spine curving sinuously as the brush ran down his back. White wings fluttered gently. "Your glossa all over my wings. Want to feel you inside me."

Drift's engine revved harder. His hands and the brush moved more firmly, a little more deliberately as he moved up to Wing's shoulders. "Keep talking, lover."

Wing purred, shifting to press his shoulders into the brush, moaning softly. "Want to put my hands all over your frame, find all the places that really get your engine revving." Wing's optics sparkled over his shoulder at the white grounder. "Want to taste your spike, lick into your valve as far as I can reach."

A full-frame shiver took Drift and his ventilations picked up. The brush scrubbed a little harder under the warm flow of solvent from above, scraping freshly dried paint off as it loosened and liquefied under the chemical assault.

Wing let out a soft, sensual moan, indulging in a stretch, leaning into the brush. His field licked over Drift's armor, saying more than words every could. Drift's field nearly roared back, expressing how hot the grounder was running for his mate.

Another shudder and Drift leaned forward, kissing the gem in Wing's Great Sword, then sliding his glossa around the edge where it met metal.

The Sword's gem pulsed warmly against Drift's lips, as if approving in its own way. The emerald-green gem sparkled, matching the glow of its bearer's optics before the glow again receded into the depths of the jewel.

Wing's purr deepened, the jet turning his helm to watch. One hand reached back to slide under Drift's hip scabbard, flirting along the connection point.

That was all it took to make Drift forget about the cleaning, and that he didn't want to be covered in glowing paint himself. His spike cover snapped open of it's own volition. The brush was dropped, forgotten in favor of freeing his hands to stroke over spread wings.

"Mine," Drift growled, rubbing against Wing's back, as deeply possessive as Wing had been during the arranged fight.

Wing responded with a purring chuckle, his valve cover snapping open in response. The jet had enough presence of mind to remove his Great Sword, leaning it against the wall so it wouldn't be in the way. White wings pressed back into Drift's hands, the jet's aft against Drift's hip, energy field inviting and enticing.

The deep rumble of Drift engine replied. Frames shifted with little actual thought so Drift could slide into his mate with a shuddering groan of pleasure.

Wing braced himself against the wall, moving one leg to give Drift better access. Trilling softly, Wing leaned back onto Drift's spike, taking it in deeper.

"Love you," Drift's moaned words were still rarely given, for all that his spark and field gave no doubt he felt it every moment of his existence. His hips pulled back and drove forward with a clang, sinking his spike as deeply as possible into Wing's valve, stretching and filling the jet while black hands roamed Wing's paint splattered frame, giving extra care to the seam of Wing's chest plates.

"Love you, too," Wing gasped in response, pressing his chest into Drift's hands while simultaneously pressing his hips back into the white grounder's, his body undulating gracefully against his lover's. One of Wing's hands braced him against the wall, the other reaching back to stroke whatever white armor was in reach while Wing turned his helm, catching Drift's lips over his shoulder, slicking down his pinions to keep them out of the way.

It was enough to draw a whine of need from Drift and he suddenly pulled back, only to pull Wing around and press his back against the wall before driving back into that pulsing valve as Wing's leg came up to hook around his hips. Lips met lips in a crushing kiss of raw desire that hadn't cooled in all the vorns they'd had together.

Wing's thigh hooked around Drift's hip, the jet's wings splaying across the wall, the tip just missing the Great Sword leaning nearby. The kiss was returned with equal fire, Wing's arms wrapping around Drift's body, fingertips raking gently down the white back. Deep purr became soft moan as Wing rocked his hips into his mate's thrusts and they lost themselves in the physical bliss of the other.

Two mecha that had never been much on monogamy had found that they simply _desired_ nothing else when the other half of their spark was nearby. The one in their arms gave everything they desired.

Wing's chestplates unlocked with a soft click, offering to bare his very soul to his lover, soon to be his bonded. The jet had turned his optics off briefly, burying his face against Drift's throat, nipping and licking, sucking lightly on an energon line. Black hands were busy across Drift's back, seeking out the most sensitive spots he knew of, primarily along the Great Sword and his hips.

At the mere hit of the offer, Drift trembled and moaned, unlocking and opening his chest in return. His spark was so eager to meet it's golden mate that it didn't wait for chest plates to open for the chamber iris to fully dilate before reaching out with thick tendrils of red energy to lick over Wing's plating as they reached for the golden spark within.

Complicated chest plates folded out of the way, golden tendrils of energy curling out of the gaps in Wing's spark chamber even before it finished opening. Wing's spark was practically pressed against the side of its chamber, as if trying to seep right through the chamber to reach its other half.

Wing wrapped his arms around Drift, pulling him close, pressing their chests together. Almost immediately two sparks meshed into one, glowing orange, swirling around each other in a graceful, intimate dance that had become frequent only in the last few orns. Only since Drift had completed his final test. Yet now it seemed as if they couldn't get enough.

Memories, desires, emotions, thoughts all mingled and crossed over, becoming part of the other as both sparks fought the demand that they not bond yet.

Wing's back arched, his body stiffening as overload crashed over him, keening Drift's name, his voice breaking into static at the end. His spark clung to Drift's, not wanting to let go. Through the connection he experienced Drift's roar of triumph, the intense pleasure of his spike, the slickness of his valve, the blissfully simple pleasure of his spike overloading in the background of the spark overload.

For the first time, Drift's off-lining was only enough to make his optics flicker, the stiffness in his frame holding them in place until he rebooted.

Wing's leg was still hooked over Drift's hip, though the limb was trembling with the effort it took to keep it there. Wing's other leg was also trembling; he wasn't sure he could stand on his own. Golden optics watched cool blue flicker, then brighten as his lover rebooted, the jet's trill welcoming Drift back to awareness.

"Hay," Drift's voice was thick with static, but his field and spark were bright and warm for his love. He reached with one trembling hand to turn off the solvent spray, then gently tugged Wing to the floor, both mechs guiding each other's trembling frames to a relatively gentle landing on the solvent slick floor. "Berth when we can walk," he added, a shiver passing through his frame when his spike reluctantly retracted, slipping from Wing's body.

Wings shivered, shedding bits of colorful paint before folding lazily against his spine. He held his mate close, purring, his engines spooling down to a gentle idle against Drift's spaulders, the jet perfectly content to just hold his lover for a while. At least until he was capable of walking again.

"Going to be a trial of its own, waiting," Drift murmured, one hand lifting to stroke Wing's side.

"Hopefully we won't have to wait much longer," Wing murmured, leaning into Drift's hand and tucking his helm under his mate's chin. "Don't know how much longer I can hold back."

"I'm not sure I ever could," Drift admitted, his field warm and welcoming to his mate. "Soon as I'm a Knight ... have they said anything to you about us bonding?"

"Nothing specific... Just to give them some warning, because there is ceremony surrounding a formal bonding, too," the white jet replied, purring like a large armor-plated housecat, much to Drift's delight.

"As if they don't know we'll bond the first time we have the chance," he chuckled, content in a way he really shouldn't be on the washrack floor. "Give them their warning after my ceremony?"

Wing nodded. "I plan on informing them that we've waited long enough, and they might find my plasma swords wedged somewhere they won't like if they make us wait much longer."

A low, deep snicker and wave of amusement answered before Drift found his voice. "Poor mecha, they trained us and they get no respect."

"I think by now even they have figured out when to give in," Wing snickered, responding eagerly to the kiss he received.

Drift merely held the kiss, running his hand along Wing's side. When they finally pulled apart slightly, it was to rest their forehelms together in a tender show of intimacy far older than kissing.

"Ready to try cleaning up again?" Drift asked with amusement for their own weaknesses.

Wing poked the colorful paint flecks dotting Drift's white armor. "You, too, this time."


	17. Standing on Ceremony

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Drift/Wing  
><strong>Rating<strong>: NC-17 for mech/mech  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Sticky  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

* * *

><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 17: Standing on Ceremony<strong>

* * *

><p>A large blue mech walked along the corridors of the Knights Citadel, heading to the levels where his creation and creation's mate had their quarters. Dai Atlas' armor gleamed, the Knight leader having been cornered and buffed by his mate earlier in the orn. Long wings twitched slightly as the blue triple changer approached Wing and Drift's quarters.<p>

Wing was not in the rooms, as planned. Dai Atlas knocked, waiting until the door opened for him before stepping inside. Red optics settled onto Drift as the white mech meditated. Shifting his weight slightly, Dai Atlas waited until Drift's icy blue optics lit, gaze taking in the larger mech.

Without a sound, Drift rose to one knee and offered his Great Sword on the back of two outstretched wrists. This time, however, the semi-sentient weapon was humming with happiness.

Dai Atlas stepped forward, taking the Great Sword, his own Sword matching Too Pure For This World's pleased hum. The big mech tilted his helm slightly to one side. "Nervous?"

Drift actually considered the question, one of the stronger marks of his training, before responding.

"No." A tiny smile crossed Drift's features, more than a hint of the smirk he had long worn in the expression. "I know my Great Sword and I know my place here."

A rare smile crossed the blue Knight's features. "Wing was a mess before his Knighting. Could see his wings quivering the whole time. Only advice I could give him was to stay strong and wait until _after_ the Knighting before he fell to pieces." Reaching down, Dai Atlas rested one white hand on Drift's shoulder. The field that contacted his was smooth, relaxed ... relieved more than nervous. "You will do well."

Drift's smile turned soft as his field licked at Dai Atlas' with a carefully tempered expression of his devotion to Wing and what New Crystal City stood for. What had once been words and an unfamiliar feeling had been understood, accepted and treasured.

With a nod, Dai Atlas allowed his field to respond with the _approval-pleasure_ he felt at seeing the mech that meant so much to his creation, a mech he had adopted in every way that mattered, finally _ready_ to become a Knight and learn the joy of a spark bond made by choice and mutual desire.

He left Drift to his meditations for another breem. Too Pure For This World needed to be chosen from among the other Great Swords, even though Drift was already bound to it. It was too important a symbol for a new Knight to be brushed aside simply because everyone knew the results.

Dai Atlas made his way to the vault in the lower levels of the Citadel, where the unbonded Great Swords were kept. As he walked, carrying Too Pure For This World, he pondered all that had happened since Drift had returned to the city.

Training the white grounder had been an interesting experience. Drift had been quite prickly for quite a while, until both the training and Wing's influence had worn off most of the roughest edges. Wing himself had had a bit of a rough time readjusting to living in the city, rather than wandering the galaxy hunting Decepticons with his cadre. All had successfully reacclimated to city life, though there had been some incidents. Thankfully, the major ones had been few and far between. To the last, the entire cadre _wanted_ to be home, to have a normal existence once more, and were willing to put everything they had into reclaiming at least a piece of the innocence and sanity they had lost.

Reaching the vault shook the blue Knight from his thoughts. Dai Atlas shook himself slightly, palming open the heavy doors and walking inside. The walls were lined with the unbonded Great Swords, their jewels glittering every color of the spectrum and then some. On his back he felt Strength of Conviction thrum, greeting its fellows and expressing the joy they all felt at formally welcoming a new bearer into their ranks.

Near the back was an empty sword bracket. Stepping toward it, Dai Atlas placed Too Pure For This World in the bracket, his fingers lingering against the hilt for a moment before withdrawing. The leader of the Circle stood for a moment, waiting for the silent communion to wrap up between his Great Sword and those awaiting their future bearers before turning and leaving the vault. It was time for Drift to Choose.

Normally the most stressful event of the entire Knighting rite, he could understand that Drift felt secure about it. If a mech couldn't pick out their Great Sword they did not deserve it. After all the pair had been through together, after all that had formed and cemented the bond, not a single Knight doubted it would be simple for Drift. Too Pure For This World would _call_ him from across the room, rather than the much more muted acceptance or rejection that required a touch that the rest of them had to work with.

Yes, Drift would be required to walk the circle and touch every gem, but it was no more than performing the steps of a ritual for him.

More than a few Knights envied him that ease.

The large blue mech retraced his steps to Drift and Wing's quarters, nodding greetings to several other Knights. All nodded back, stepping out of the triple changer's way as Dai Atlas went to retrieve Drift.

A large black form appeared next to Dai Atlas, Axe joining his mate. Blue optics met red briefly before the Knight leader lifted a hand to knock. This time the door slid open before he could touch it.

Drift was where he had been left; on his knees, meditating with a relaxed frame and calm, content field that could be felt well away from him.

Ice blue optics lit as Drift's helm lifted, taking in the pair at his door.

Without a sound Drift stood in a smooth grace he had picked up from Wing.

"It is time." Dai Atlas tilted his helm slightly, he and Axe waiting patiently as Drift joined them.

Axe and Dai Atlas had explained in detail what Drift was to do once he entered the vault. Wing had added his own experience, when choosing his Great Sword, and had commented on his first bonded's Choosing.

A large black hand brushed Drift's shoulder. Then Dai Atlas turned, leading the way to where the Great Swords were kept, a much smaller vault than the primary weapons cache that had repelled the slavers so long ago.

Before the vault door was opened, Drift turned his optics off as required. This test, and it was a test even for him, was about listening to his spark and to the Great Swords around him. A hand on his shoulder guided him to a pace before the first of the unclaimed blades, then let him go as it's owner backed off to join Axe by the door where they would watch.

In theory, at least according to Dai Atlas, it was possible for a Great Sword to kill a mech trying to claim it, though that had not happened among the Knights of Light. A few had been knocked on their afts with smoking circuits, but went on to choose correctly after the pointed rejection.

For Drift, the difficult part was to go through with the steps and touch each Great Sword. He _knew_ where his was, but it was part of the rite to check every one of them by touch.

One by one, the Great Swords accepted his touch and brush of his field, but pushed back to move on, which he did without question or fear of reaching the end without being accepted. When he came to Too Pure For This World his spark and the Great Sword sang to each other, a caress he had long known but never stopped to appreciate. Reluctantly Drift moved on, following the path to greet the rest of the blades.

Only one other called to him, startling him into stopping dead when his fingers brushed it, but the connection was not as strong. This blade _wanted_ to be his.

Both of Dai Atlas' optic ridges went up. Next to him, Axe muted a startled sound, though his surprise did leak through their bond. They had heard Too Pure For This World's song, knew Drift had heard it, too. But for another Great Sword to respond... This was unexpected.

They watched as Drift quivered, uncertain how to respond, knowing that he had to make a choice without any help and that what he did in the next moment would determine much of his remaining function.

He already had a bond with Too Pure For This World, but it had never been _his_. It had changed him to suit its desires, something he still hated when he allowed himself to think about it. Their bond was a volatile one at the best of times.

Here was a Great Sword that resonated with _him_ the way Wing had described it. Drift had so long ago accepted that such a bond was simply not for him, that Wing was his gift from Primus, that nothing could come close to feeling that _right_, and yet here it was.

A faint tremor passed through him as he flattened his palm against the gem, seeking to explore this, to understand before he chose. It didn't matter that he knew the choice had been made long ago. Part of him still forced him to torture himself with what could be, to reach out for what he would always be denied and forced to watch others have. His spark literally cried out as Challenger of Ways, the one from _this_ universe, not the weapon still hanging in his quarters, tried to bond with him right there. It truly was trying to steal him from his existing bond and his spark was all for it.

It was enough to drop Drift to his knees with an agonized keen that no penance had ever drawn from him.

Dai Atlas' wings flared out in alarm. He could _feel_ the Great Sword's demand. The two elder mechs exchanged uneasy glances, uncertain of what to do. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

Axe took a few steps forward, then hesitated. He was not supposed to enter until the choice was made, technically, but neither he nor his mate had ever seen anything like this.

Dai Atlas caught his mate's shoulder, holding him in place. Their bond was buzzing with mutual distress. If this seriously damaged Drift ... facing Wing was not something either of them wanted to do.

Somehow Drift pushed himself to his pedes. His spark howled in distress, but no matter how badly spark and Great Sword wanted it, he was already bound to Too Pure For This World. This was not a choice. It was nothing more than a punishment to give himself over the past, over failing Wing and permitting his love to die for him, because of him.

He stumbled forward, his hand brushing against the next blade and it's gratefully cool response to him. Two more, one more, and Drift allowed himself to drop to his knees once more. His frame and spark were both in agony, though he was in no danger now. He only needed time to recover and for his spark to grieve what could have been.

Axe retreated, pressing his back against his mate's blue armor. He could feel the larger mech trembling. Both of them were watching, unable to look away. Dai Atlas' flared, trembling wings finally settled, returning to their lowered position. His hand found his mate's unconsciously, white fingers twining with black.

They watched as Drift remained still, his vents audibly wheezing as he struggled to recover from the attempt to force a second bond that his spark very much wanted.

A breem and the white mech finally drew himself to his pedes and returned without hesitation to Too Pure For This World. The first touch was soothing, reinforcing the bond that had already existed for centuries and soothing Drift's frantic, distressed spark.

The Sword's response could best be interpreted as a possessive "MINE!", wrapping itself around Drift's spark. There was also the sense that, had the Great Swords been able to move on their own, there would have been a fight.

Axe let out a soft vent of relief, finally relaxing. Dai Atlas' hand tightened briefly on the black Knight's before letting do, the big triple changer's ruby optics on Drift.

"The Great Sword has chosen you," Dai Atlas stated, his tone formal.

Drift nodded, his frame, spark and processors exhausted by the ordeal. Even now they could all feel Challenger of Ways calling to him, demanding that Too Pure For This World surrender its claim on the mech.

It was a lost cause. Drift had chosen his fate as much as Too Pure For This World had chosen him.

He steadied his hands and took Too Pure For This World from the bracket it rested on and brought it to the door. He would not wear the weapon until he was fully accepted as a Knight of Light by the Circle of Light. Not until every living Knight had their say on his suitability.

Even now, bonded to a Great Sword, backed and trained by the leader of the order, he could still be rejected by the Circle.

Dai Atlas stepped aside, allowing Drift to leave the vault. Axe shut the door after them, turning to face his mate and the white grounder.

"Its designation?" Another ritual question.

"Too Pure For This World," Drift responded, his voice smoothing out as the Great Sword focused on soothing him.

Dai Atlas nodded solemnly, then turned toward a door on the other side of the corridor, opening it and waving Drift inside. Axe leaned against the wall outside, crossing his arms over his chestplate.

Closing the door, Dai Atlas turned to face Drift. "As you are already bound to the Great Sword this is more of a formality than anything, but it still must be done. Here is where a Knight-Initiate bonds to the Great Sword that has chosen them. To do so, they must expose their spark to their Great Sword."

A faint tremor passed Drift's frame at that. He still wasn't comfortable _thinking_ about baring his spark to Wing, though once he was past thinking it came easily. Still, this wasn't a surprise. He knew it was coming.

He hadn't quite grasped that Dai Atlas would be in the room _with_ him.

With a deep, calming intake of air, Drift nodded and knelt, allowing Dai Atlas rather than memories and stories to guide him. The Knights were Dai Atlas' order, not the traditions of long forgotten ones.

Long wings flared slightly as the Circle's leader took up a position in front of Drift, far enough away to be out of swatting range. Just in case. "I am aware that is not the most comfortable thought in the universe, but it is how the bonding has always been done. I myself underwent this." Dai Atlas' ruby optics glowed slightly. "Expose your spark to the Great Sword's gem, and allow the edge of your spark's corona to touch the jewel."

Drift trembled, not at the bonding, but at having a mech he still didn't completely trust there for it. He turned his optics off and pulled his sensors and field in close, intentionally preventing himself from noticing the large mech unless Dai Atlas tried for his attention.

With more effort that it took most, he ordered his chest plates to open, then his spark chamber to move forward and open as he brought Too Pure For This World's gem close to his spark.

Dai Atlas might have been a statue but for the glow of his optics, the gleam of the golden gem in the hilt of his Great Sword, and the slight flick of a long wing. He watched in silence as Too Pure For This World's hilt gem lit up, shining like a small blue star, the glow reaching out to caress its bearer's deep red spark. The dance, even after so long bonded, was clearly not the easiest for either.

It didn't come as a surprise to Dai Atlas. As a Great Sword that had chosen Wing, it and Drift had little in common. A good pairing for mechs, perhaps, but not a smooth one between a Great Sword and its bearer. Yet somehow Drift and Too Pure For This World had found a way to make it work. How much Drift had learned from the weapon while he was gone was proof enough of that.

Drift's spark reached out, wrapping the gem in a network of red tendrils. It created an unusual purple glow as the entire Great Sword began to glow, Drift's spark energy merging with the existing spark fragments to strength it, but also making tiny changes as Drift's fundamental spark nature joined those already there.

A low, soft moan escaped Drift as his spark was drawn further into the merge, the nature of Too Pure For This World far too close to Wing for him to even try to resist.

Dai Atlas' optics flared, his wings spreading out to their full span. "_Enough._"

Hopefully the interruption would be enough to snap Drift back to his senses. Dai Atlas was not sure what would happen if Drift's spark merged fully with the Great Sword, and he really did not want to find out. He much preferred his plating undamaged and all his limbs attached, and he knew that Wing would be after him if anything happened to Drift.

Ice blue optics snapped on, confusion and pleasure swirling in the pale light. It was enough for Drift to pull back, even if he didn't understand why he was supposed to. Protocols not even he could turn off snapped into action to protect his life essence from the mech who wasn't Wing.

It left him dazed but stable as the dusty purple glow around Too Pure For This World faded to the warm, light blue that matched its gem, then faded completely.

Extended wings flicked once before slowly lowering back into their folded position. Dai Atlas took a single step closer. "It is done. By Knight tradition and law you are now formally bound to your Sword. It is now truly yours in the optics of the Circle."

Drift nodded, slow and careful. His senses weren't quite stable yet, but he understood what he was being told. Within a klik his optics cleared and focused, though he was showing how wearing this was even more.

Drift was drained; physically, emotionally, psychologically. All he wanted, desperately, was to press close to Wing and be held as he recharged for a few joors.

Dai Atlas looked the white mech over for a long moment. Next was to present Drift to the Circle, once Drift had been made presentable. But Drift was looking almost ready to keel over. The Order Master warred briefly with the mech who'd adopted Drift as his own family.

They came to a compromise. No one would have gathered yet. Detailing often took a joor or more. No one would question if he allowed Drift a joor, or even two, to recharge. Particularly if Wing did some of the work while his mate, his soon-to-be-bonded, was recovering.

The blue mech took a step closer, offering a hand to help Drift to his feet. "The next step is getting you cleaned up and detailed before you are brought before the Circle," Dai Atlas explained. "And if said detailing takes a little longer than usual, no one will question." Unsaid but still clearly audible was that Drift could catch a nap during that time, so he wouldn't collapse in a white heap in front of the other Knights.

Drift nodded, accepting the hand, a show of acceptance that had been a long time to earn. When he was steady once more Dai Atlas opened the door. Axe was visible as a shadow on one side, the other ... a flash of white and Drift let out an audible whine-trill of greeting. He was nearly trembling in the effort not to grab Wing and reassure himself that this was really okay, that Wing really did still want him.

Wing's response was a cooing chirr, the white jet darting forward to press against his mate, taking Drift's weight, holding him upright. Their fields wrapped and interlaced tightly, nearly as intimately as a spark merge, and Drift let out a near-sob of relief. He allowed his forehelm to rest on Wing's shoulder, just inside the nacelle, for a moment before bracing himself to talk. He wasn't about to let Wing go, but he didn't need to be carried and he wasn't going to be. The pride and determination that had always sustained him could never be more than lightly muted.

Dai Atlas stepped to the side, allowing Wing to help Drift, shooing the two white mechs back up toward the levels where the pair were quartered. Axe pushed away from the wall, following. His bond was pulsing with relief, pleasure and a bit of amusement at watching the couple that for all their age, battle experience and time together were still very much like mechlings with their first crush.

It was adorable.

By the time the quartet reached Wing and Drift's quarters, the jet was almost dragging his mate. Axe herded them across to the washracks, handing Dai Atlas his Great Sword. He had the distinct impression that getting Drift properly cleaned and detailed was going to take more than just Wing. If only to keep Drift from falling over.

And if it was Axe who got covered in cleanser, it would give his own mate an excuse to buff and polish black armor.

"Recharge," Wing cooed, his fingers gently closing around Drift's Great Sword to put it to the side. "We'll make sure you're presentable."

Pale blue optics looked up, about to object, only to have Drift nod. With a shift he locked his leg joints and spinal strut, then began the shutdown into light recharge. He needed more, but this would get him through the next few joors of ceremony and the early party. Fortunately no one expected him to stay long with his well-known appetite for Wing over high grade.

Axe hummed low in his throat, getting out the brushes while Dai Atlas hunted out Wing's stash of armor polishes and waxes, for later. The blue mech leaned on the edge of the washracks door, watching his mate and creation as they worked on the recharging white grounder.

It really was amazing how far Drift had come since he first arrived in New Crystal City wearing the Decepticon insignia. It was a change of path that Dai Atlas could well appreciate, though he considered Drift's path more difficult than his own had been. Of all the things that had happened in Dai Atlas' long functioning, being abandoned was not one of them. Oh, sure, he'd been left behind enemy lines, captured on occasion, but never abandoned like Drift had been only orns into his functioning.

Sooner or later, someone had always come for Dai Atlas, be it a prisoner trade or an extraction. Even the times when he'd gotten himself out, he knew he had a place to return to, a function to fulfill.

In his own way, Drift exemplified what Dai Atlas had endeavored to create here. A place where no one was thrown away. A place where the past was the past and only one's actions in the city mattered.

A place of peace and new beginnings.

Sensing his mate's thoughts, Axe looked up, blue optics meeting warm ruby. The black Knight's smile was warm, drawing an answering smile from the blue mech. For a moment they just gazed at each other.

And then Wing managed to direct some of the cleanser right into Axe's face, getting a startled yip from the triple changer while the white jet playfully griped about having to do everything himself.

Dai Atlas was quite content to watch his mate and creation play around the recharging frame of their adopted creation, when the giggling and splashing had settled down, he considered Wing carefully. "So ... when can I expect a request for a grand-creation?"

Wing blinked at the larger mech. "We... haven't even brought that up yet. It will most likely be some time before I can broach the subject without Drift suffering a processor crash on me."

Axe chuckled. "Personally, I think that processor crash would be more payback for the one he gave us when he returned to the city with you and your cadre, but you're right. As much as we'd wish otherwise."

"Bonding, at least?" Dai Atlas sounded more hopeful of that, after how easily Drift's spark merged with the Great Sword that resonated so strongly of Wing.

"As soon as possible," Wing replied promptly. "We have been spark merging often, and it was very, very hard to keep from bonding." Golden optics narrowed. "I told Drift that I planned on informing you that if you made us wait any longer than necessary after Drift becomes a full Knight, I would wedge my plasma blades somewhere you really won't like."

Axe made a sound suspiciously like he was trying to swallow his laughter.

"I have no doubt," Dai Atlas didn't hide his grin of approval. "I believe all arrangements can be sorted out within the decaorn."

Wing's smile was brighter than the twin suns overhead. He returned his attention to his mate's plating with a chirr, purring happily.

Dai Atlas and Axe exchanged a warm smile over the shorter pair's helms. ~Have you met a pair so addicted to each other after so long together?~

~Besides us?~ Axe's optics sparkled with humor. ~No, not that I can think of.~

~Tonight I'll toast to their long love,~ Dai Atlas smiled. ~They will need each other to see the city through the next generation's great war.~

Axe nodded, ducking a swat from Wing. ~As will I, and yes, they will need each other.~ He tilted his helm slightly. ~I take it you've finally made up your processor about training them as our successors?~

~Drift has proven all my reservations about him to be false,~ Dai Atlas smiled at the mech recharging on his pedes while he was cleaned and polished. ~That Wing has such a strong cadre is more than we have, more than I ever expected. They're both already well respected for their age and status. Knights far their senior will follow orders without hesitation. But you know all this. Yes, once their bond has settled and Drift is established as a Knight I will broach it with them.~

~Drift is going to have the processor crash to end all processor crashes,~ Axe snickered, ~I want to be there to see it. Or you'll be recharging on the floor.~

~I wouldn't dream of denying you the pleasure,~ Dai Atlas gave an evil little grin. ~Wing may well crash too.~

"That look always tells me that you've got an evil thought brewing between those horns." Wing popped around Drift, eying Dai Atlas suspiciously.

"He's just making fun of me," Axe interrupted, flicking cleanser at their creation. "You and Drift aren't the only ones planning an interesting evening."

"It has been a long time since we celebrated a Knighting," Dai Atlas chuckled. "I'm looking forward to seeing you bonded. It has been a very long wait."

"Too long, if you ask us," Wing replied, giving his creators one last suspicious look. "Resisting has not been easy." He flicked his audial flares slightly. "Before my city fell... There were few Knightings after my Drift's. Here, mine was the last, wasn't it?"

"We Knighted two after Wing, both civilians, both after the city came to the surface," Dai Atlas said quietly. "I couldn't bare to call a spark from the Circle of Swords, though we have the empty seats." His wide, upswept wings twitched in a mixture of shame and grief. "Now that Drift has finished training ... I intend to grant one, perhaps two, requests for creations by Knights, for new Knights."

Golden optics brightened. "It's been a very long time since I've seen a sparkling, or seen the Citadel sparkling-proofed. It'll be so good to have little ones running around getting into trouble again."

Axe reached over to poke a white nacelle. "No teaching them the same brand of trouble you used to pull on us."

"I won't have to," Wing smirked up at him. "Sparklings simply _know_."

"Do try to work on Drift," Dai Atlas smiled at the playfulness. "I do want to see your application once these are Knighted."

"I have every intention of working on him," the white jet replied, his wings flaring out in enthusiasm. "My first bonded and I... were actually about to submit our application when the city fell and he was killed. He'd finally settled enough to seriously consider raising a sparkling."

Axe flared his field out in support, understanding and hope. "How close is Drift to him, when he was Knighted?"

Wing paused a moment to consider that. "When he was Knighted... My first bonded was still not as well socialized and was very paranoid. This Drift is by far more well-adjusted. It took my first bonded _centuries_ to get anywhere near this far."

"It took that him as well, if not longer," Axe said gently. "It was just the Autobots that did the socializing, and not us." He put his hand on Wing's shoulder, his field warm with affection and support. "I'm still in awe at what you survived and how well you brought your cadre through it."

"He wouldn't have wanted me to give up," Wing whispered. "Neither would my creators. We were all hurt, some more than others, but we knew each other's pain. And we endured it." The jet briefly succumbed to the urge to press against ebony armor, burying his face in Axe's chest.

Strong arms wrapped around him. Then another pair as Dai Atlas knelt to embrace Wing as well. Both their fields were thick with _understanding-support-love-acceptance_.

"That is much how I continued," Dai Atlas murmured. "I'd lost creations before, but never one I had raised to be _safe_. I had never prepared myself to loose him."

"Primus willing, you'll never have to lose another," Wing whispered, turning off his optics and surrendering to their embrace. It took a moment for him to get his trembling to stop and get himself centered again. It was a moment neither of his creators begrudged him.

Only when they were all sure did the embrace end.

"Primus willing, we will both raise many fine Knights with our mates," Dai Atlas gently rested his forehelm against Wing's. "It is what I want most for you. To be _happy_, to be bonded in love, to raise creations that survive you."

Wing almost melted against the warm blue chestplate. "That would be wonderful," he murmured.

"Yes," Dai Atlas agreed. "It is a hope I had long thought lost. Drift brought hope back to me. You brought so much hope. You and your cadre."

"Why don't I get Drift in the berth and you can snuggle while he recovers?" Axe suggested softly. "Dai and I will meditate and talk until he is ready to face the Circle."

Dai Atlas looked over his mate's cleanser-streaked armor. "Just talk?" He lifted an optic rim.

Wing snickered. "Get Drift in the berth first. Then you two can play."

"Yes Sir!" Axe grinned, laughing brightly as he picked Drift up, careful of the work done to his finish and walked out of the washrack to the berthroom.

"Go on," Dai Atlas encouraged Wing. "Seeing the two of you recharge together is good for my spark."

The white jet's smile was brilliant. He gave the blue triple changer another hug, then bounced out of the washracks, following Axe.

The black mech was back after a few moments, smiling over his shoulder as Wing snuggled up against Drift, the jet's purr carrying to the two elder mechs. Then blue optics turned to meet ruby. Both relished the peaceful happiness that permeated the quarters too much to do more than clean themselves up at first.

It was simply too sweet to interrupt.

* * *

><p>The low hum of voices could be heard well outside the great meeting hall of the Circle of Light as the gathered Knights conversed, awaiting the arrival of their leader and his mate. It was fairly common knowledge what was going on; Dai Atlas had been seen and heard in full formal mode, and word had spread fast.<p>

Outside, Dai Atlas paused in front of the chamber's doors, looking toward his mate for a moment, then dropping his gaze to take in Wing and Drift.

The pair were both doing a fine job of looking calm and composed and the perfect Knights. Their fields told a different story. Wing was completely jacked up, while Drift was somewhere between tired and completely centered. After what the Great Swords did to him, this was nothing. He knew no one would reject him effectively enough to exile him. He had too many supporters.

Dai Atlas drew in a deep breath, x-venting slowly. His field extended to brush against the two white mechs', full of _support-assurance_. After a moment to make sure he himself was centered, the cobalt-armored Knight opened the doors, leading the group into the chamber.

It was as full as it ever was; thirty-eight Knights already seated and solemn made forty as Axe and Wing took their places. For this presentation, only the Initiate and the Knight who trained them were on the floor. Next to him, Drift was calm, sure of himself and his place as he rested his Great Sword tip down in front of him. It was an odd sensation; most Initiates were still something of a bundle of nerves, even those that were certain of their acceptance.

Dai Atlas chuckled to himself.

Drift was Drift. There was so little that could rattle the warrior, and after the existence he had survived Dai Atlas could hardly fault him his arrogance in this.

The cobalt mech straightened, one wing flickering before settling into place. Dai Atlas's gaze swept the assembled Knights. When he spoke, his words were formal.

"Knights of the Circle of Light, before you stands one who wishes to join our ranks. He has completed his training under myself and Axe, and has bonded his Great Sword. He has passed all challenges and tests set in his path." Dai Atlas' helm crests glittered golden as he turned, facing all of the gathered Knights before placing one hand on Drift's shoulder. "What say you, my fellow Knights? Shall the Initiate Drift join our ranks as a Knight of Light?"

One by one, beginning with Axe and Wing, the gathering added their hum to a chorus. One tone for acceptance, a dissonant one for rejection, a third that harmonized for acceptance with reservations.

Drift's welcome held more reservations than most, but not a single dissonant note was in the chamber when the last Knight voiced their choice.

Dai Atlas' optics glowed at the sound. He had expected there to be reservations; it was rare that a new Knight was welcomed without someone having reservations about it. There had never been an Initiate rejected, but there was always a first time for everything, and that was what had worried the big triple changer even if it didn't worry Drift.

Turning to face Drift, Dai Atlas began the Knights Creed, the long form, to which Drift would have to respond with "I do" or "I accept" at the appropriate places. Both Wing and Axe had coached the white grounder exhaustively in the proper order to the responses.

With every correct answer at the correct moment, Dai Atlas felt his pride swell. This was the type of training that Drift did the most poorly with; knowledge without a practical, physical application. He knew exactly how hard Drift had worked to get this right, and that he hadn't learned for himself. Drift had learned this because he couldn't stand to let Wing down, even in the tiny way of making a mistaken word.

Dai Atlas finished the Creed, Drift's last response trailing into silence. Wing was almost vibrating where he sat, trying his hardest to keep his wings folded. The cobalt mech could hear the faint rattle of wing panels against Wing's back plating.

The Knight leader placed both hands on Drift's shoulders, his ruby optics meeting Drift's icy blue and extending his field in welcome, flush with the pride he had in the younger mech. "Welcome to the Circle of Light."

"Thank you," Drift spoke the words that still didn't come very easily, but he returned the warmth in Dai Atlas' field. When the leader stepped back, Drift slid his Great Sword into the brackets on his back that it hadn't rested in since he had been accepted into training.

Wing was almost beside himself with happiness. Axe was grinning and not bothering to try and hide it. Dai Atlas bore a rare smile as he tilted his helm, indicating Drift's place in the chamber, next to Wing's. The new Knight didn't hesitate to take it, accepting the welcoming hug from his mate and claiming a kiss as it was offered.

It was a slight break in decorum that no one begrudged the couple. More than a few of the Knights grinned and revved engines or turbines at the pair as the kiss deepened. Predictable as always, Drift and Wing quickly lost track of where they were once they got their plating touching.

Dai Atlas cleared his vocalizer loudly, making Wing jump. The white jet gave his creator a sheepish look, riffling his wings a bit. The Circle leader shook his helm, amused. "That can wait until after the celebration, Wing."

It caused a wave of snickers to pass around the room, and didn't deter Drift from pressing close and twining his fingers with Wing's.

Like any other group of Cybertronians, the Knights took every opportunity offered for a party, though to Drift this party at its zenith wouldn't come close to what he had learned was a 'party'. There was high grade, music, dancing and good mood, but these mecha were more interested in savoring the high grade than getting overcharged. It was _weird_ to Drift, to have it so mellow ... and to really grasp that he was never going to get overcharged again. At least not intentionally.

This particular party was to celebrate Drift's becoming a true Knight of Light. All of the others were coming over to congratulate him. Wing was hovering around his mate, nearly literally from the hum of his nacelles, beaming with pride. The others were all coming over in clumps, wanting to get their two cents in before Wing and Drift disappeared on them.

Axe was the last to offer his congratulations and took the opportunity to whisper that they were free to go now.

Wing all but tackled his mate, his optics bright, purring. Dai Atlas snorted at them from across the rec room as Axe rejoined him, the black Knight leaning comfortably against the cobalt.

The young lovers, both battle scarred in ways that would never completely heal, didn't care. They were far too focused on getting each other to a private room.

If was Drift who found the small meeting room, currently unused, and pulled Wing into it. The door was locked and Drift pulled Wing against his chest as he backed himself against the wall and hooked one calf over Wing's thigh.

Wing chirred eagerly, leaning in to deliver a fierce kiss. His hands glided over white armor, one sliding down to teasingly stroke over Drift's interface equipment. Dark fingertips slid into the join of body and leg, teasing the joint and the finely tuned cables and wires it contained.

With a moan Drift slid both covers open. His spike quickly pressurized, but it was his valve that wanted attention more. Even this early on it was so slick a trickle began to work its way to Drift's standing leg.

Wing released his own spike, shifting his hips to slide it smoothly into his lover's valve. His fingers slid out of the joint, curling around Drift's spike, stroking over the nodes from base to tip.

With a shuddering cry Drift rolled into the thrust. His valve tightened and rippled around his lover as he gripped Wing's shoulder and rolled his helm back, offering his throat. His entire frame, field and spark cried out to be taken, filled, pleasured ... but this once he was determined to keep the overload purely physical. No matter what his spark wanted, he _missed_ the purely carnal pleasure that penetrative interfacing was.

The jet chirred as his lips glided over Drift's jaw down to his throat, pressing nipping kisses to the cables and power lines. Every touch to the sensitive cables, the life line to the processors and a place every mecha protected, caused Drift to shiver and tremble, his field flaring with heightened desire the vulnerability drew from him.

Wing's nacelles pressed against Drift's shoulders, engines revving. He shifted slightly, thrusting into Drift's valve, settling into a steady rhythm that his mate matched and cried into, pleading wordlessly for more, for this not to end. His wings slowly, almost shyly flared out of their tight tuck, giving a complex little flutter.

Without hesitation Drift reached for them just from the sound of the movement. Palms flat along the plates he stroked and squeezed, encouraging Wing to continue.

Wing's back arched slightly, his wings spreading out to their full span, pressing into Drift's hands. His field wrapped around Drift's, full of his own desire and his deep love for his mate. Trilling between soft moans, Wing increased his pace, thrusting faster and harder into Drift, leaning forward so that his mate's own spike rubbed against the white jet's abdominal armor.

It was a move that made Drift cry out sharply with pleasure fueled by desire. Though he happily stroked and indulged his love's wings, his focus was on his valve, the fullness welcome as it rubbed against lubricant coated sensor nodes and resisted the tightening of muscle cables and the flexible valve lining.

Wing picked up the pace again, nipping at an energon line, then stroking his glossa over the bite. His fingers worked into a seam along Drift's side, one hand moving up the white grounder's spaulder. His field was awash with _desire-love-joy_ as it melded with Drift's.

A low gasp escaped Drift as his field roared back in his pleasure, the emotions a perfect match for Wing's.

"P-please," Drift nearly keened as energy began to lick along his plating, jumping to Wing's. Their hips rolled and thrust. Drift's hands found wing joints and clutched at them to pull Wing tightly against him as he shook.

Wing moaned against Drift's throat, shifting his hips slightly, getting a better angle, increasing his pace. His fingers slid into the seams of white spaulders, seeking out the sensor nodes he knew lurked there. Overload was building fast to the point where they wouldn't be able to stop it. Safety overrides prepared to engage to ensure the huge charge of loose energy was properly dissipated even if stimulation ended.

Drift force his face down to press between Wing's nacelle and neck, his entire frame clinging to Wing's as his vents began to hitch. His fingers curled in sharply, tightening out of Drift's control as he screamed against Wing's neck cables and crashed over the edge of bliss.

Wing muffled his keen against Drift's spaulder, his nacelles revving high enough that he was just shy of going airborne. Which would not be a good idea while inside. He clung to Drift for balance, to keep from falling over or collapsing into a heap, his wings twitching from the overload.

Somehow the managed to remain upright. Wing's transfluid and Drift's lubricants seeped out to ooze down their legs despite the value's efforts to keep everything in.

"Never get tired of your touch," Drift managed to pant, the room several degrees warmer from the burningly hot air they both expelled.

Wing purred, nuzzling against Drift's shoulder. "And I crave yours," the jet replied, optics dimming with contentment. Steam curled from his armor seams as his engines spooled down to their usual gentle idle, his pinions drooping slightly, contentedly.

Their mingled fields echoed safe contentment back and forth in a dozen flavors that all meant the same in the end. They were together. They were safe. All was good.

Drift nuzzled a kiss to Wing's neck, content to remain exactly as they were for now.


	18. When Knights Bond

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Drift/Wing  
><strong>Rating<strong>: R for mech/mech  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Spark, Bonding  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: Nanoklik = 1/8 second;  
>klik = 496 nanokliks62 seconds;  
>breem = 8 kliks8.27 minutes;  
>groon = 9 breem1.24 hours;  
>joor = 6 groon7.44 hours;  
>orn = 42 joor13.02 days;  
>decaorn = 32 orns1.14 years;  
>metacycle = 8 decaorn9.22 years;  
>vorn = 9 metacycles72 decaorn/83 years;  
>century = 96 vorns7968 years;  
>millennia = 1056 centuries101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

* * *

><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 18: When Knights Bond<strong>

* * *

><p>Twitching his wings, Dai Atlas walked through the Citadel toward the living quarters levels for new Knights, Axe at his side, heading for their creation's quarters. Wing and Drift had been holed up for several joors already, and word had reached the Knight leader that GoldenRod was in there with them. The golden mech's mate had only smiled at the cobalt triple changer when Dai Atlas had cornered him wanting to know what was going on. So Dai Atlas had decided to go and see for himself.<p>

Reaching Wing and Drift's quarters, the blue mech lifted a hand to knock, but the door opened before he could raise his hand all the way. GoldenRod grinned brightly at him, stepping aside to let the two larger mechs enter. Both walked past him, then spotted Drift and Wing and just stopped, staring in surprise.

Both mechs had been immaculately detailed, their armor cleaned, waxed, and polished to a shine. Delicate silver designs had been painted into white plating, along with the glyphs that stated for all the world to see that these two mechs were claimed beyond any shadow of a doubt. The effect of shimmering silver on the pure white was stunning.

"Drift's patterns will fade out eventually," GoldenRod explained, gathering up his supplies. "Except for the glyphs that announce that he belongs only to Wing. He asked that those glyphs be made permanent. Wing's patterns are permanent, as per his request."

"He does very good work," Drift purred his approval, flawless black fingers playing over fine silver lines on Wing's frame.

GoldenRod's grin brightened, and he inclined his helm to Drift. "I've been practicing on Titan almost as long as I've been bonded to him. Ask him sometime to show you the colored-light patterns on his armor."

Dai Atlas blinked several times, walking around the two soon-to-be-bonded to get a better look. The silver patterns gleamed against the white, delicate and intricate and absolutely gorgeous to gaze upon. Wing purred as he stretched out his wings, looking over his shoulders at the designs they bore, leaning into Drift's hands.

"He does do amazing work," Axe murmured, his optics glowing warmly.

"The ceremony will be starting soon," Dai Atlas reminded the pair, amusement in his voice as he watched Drift. Wild, fierce, possessive, passionate Drift. More prone to violence than thought. Absolutely resolute in doing what he believed needed to be done. Both polar opposite and perfect match to the playful, affectionate, possessive, passionate Wing. More prone to thought than violence. Absolutely resolute in doing what he believed needed to be done.

One raised by everything New Crystal City stood against. The other raised in the highly disciplined but sheltered world of the Citadel.

Seeing this made Dai Atlas all the more certain he had chosen his successor well. Between them they had the innocence and the bitter memories to guide the city and the Circle of Light through the next Great War.

White wings quivered with excitement at what that meant. Soon, so soon, he wouldn't have to hold back that bit of himself from Drift's spark.

"We're ready," Drift gave a smile to the mecha who had adopted him. "It's been too long a wait already."

Both of the elder mechs returned the smile, optics shining. Their own bonding was still bright and vivid in their memories despite how long ago it had been. Off to one side, GoldenRod's smile was soft as he too recalled his bonding, though his had been under different circumstances; he and Titan had missed out on a formal ceremony.

Axe shook himself out of his thoughts, reaching out to touch his mate's hand. "We should head down, then... Everyone is gathering."

Wing chirred in excitement, his hand closing around Drift's as they followed the elder couple out with GoldenRod walking behind them. It was so difficult to keep his wings tucked. It wasn't the ceremony, though he was looking forward to seeing everyone witness the vows. Drift, he knew, wasn't nearly as keen on the ceremony, but not nearly as resistant as he would have been vorns ago.

A small crowd had gathered around the large hall being used for the ceremony. All of the Knights had polished their armor to a soft shine, their frames immaculate. Off to one side stood Titanium, his armor also shining and showing patterns in blues and golds here and there. Near the front of the room stood a slender older mech bearing the deep red finish and markings of a high priest of Primus.

Since Drift didn't have any creators to stand with him, Dai Atlas did, while Axe stood with Wing.

"Creations of Primus, we have gathered to bear witness to the oaths of this couple that will guide them through their existence as one spark in two frames," the priest spoke in the oldest dialect still understood anywhere, his voice rich with warmth and joy at the occasion he was officiating.

The clusters of Knights flowed into straight lines, all optics on the priest and the two white mechs before him. Soft murmurs rose from the watchers as they took in the beautiful patterns painted on both mechs, one or two glancing back at the golden mech standing next to the big purple and silver triple changer before returning their attention to the ceremony.

Wing trembled very slightly with excitement, barely managing to hold himself still. He'd waited so long for this, worked so hard to get Drift ready for this. Next to him Drift was steadier on the outside, but his field betrayed how eager he was for this step.

"Elders, present the creations who will be bonded this orn," the priest smiled at them.

Dai Atlas tilted his helm to Drift, walking with the white grounder to stand in front of the priest. "I present the adopted creation of myself and Axe, the Knight Drift."

Wing almost bounced forward with Axe, a soft murmur from the black mech getting the white jet to settle, albeit barely, as Axe presented Wing to the priest. Then he and Dai Atlas stepped back slightly, standing to the sides of the mechs they stood with.

"Drift, do you come here of your own free will, uncoerced but by your spark?" The priest's pure white optics locked onto icy blue.

"I do," Drift never looked away, offering the truth in his optics to the priest.

"Wing, do you come here of your own free will, uncoerced but by your spark?" The priest turned to Wing's golden optics.

"I do," Wing answered, making and holding optic contact, showing that he spoke the truth. Next to him, Axe smiled proudly.

"Do you both understand that this bond will change you forever, leaving part of your spark with your mate and taking part of their spark into your own," the priest focused primarily on Drift, aware that Wing had been bonded before and thus knew better than any words the cost and reward of the bond. "Once created, it can never be broken. Not even after you pass from these frames."

"I understand," they responded in unison.

From the audience there was perfect silence. All attention was on the soon-to-be-bonded pair and the priest. Most of the Knights had gathered, including all of Wing's cadre, as well as Titanium and GoldenRod, who were among the very few non-Knights invited to attend. GoldenRod was smiling, his fingers twined with his mate's.

"Speak your vows before the gathering and Primus," they were instructed.

In the audience the serious couples, bonded or not, privately recited the vows they had spoken or would speak.

Taking a deep breath, Wing turned to face Drift, taking his mate's hands in his, golden optics meeting blue. "To you, Drift, I vow my loyalty and my respect. I vow to support you, to love you, to provide for you both physically and emotionally, from now until the day we return to the Well. I will put no one and nothing before you but my vows to the Circle of Light, and only those vows will prevent me from joining you immediately when you extinguish."

Drift trembled faintly before finding his voice and promptly threw the planned vows out. "Wing, my reason to improve myself. My reason to exist. I will honor my vows to the Circle of Light over my vows to you, over my spark, with protest. All I have done since we first met I have done to honor you.

"To you, Wing, I pledge my loyalty, my respect, my love, my support in all you do and believe in. I will provide and protect you from all challenges thrown our way, in this frame and beyond." He paused, a small part of him aware of _who_ he was saying this before. If there were any words Primus would hear and hold him to, it would be these.

"I swear to remain with you until you travel to the Well and Primus, whether or not I wear a frame."

Wing could not help a soft, joyful chirr, much to his creators' amusement. He had optics only for Drift, and only a soft warning rumble from Axe kept him from launching himself into Drift's arms.

Around the room there were revs, rumbles and actual gasps of shock. This went well beyond the vows normally made. Even the high priest was slightly taken aback at the impact the vows could have. He gathered himself quickly, privately enchanted by the depth of emotion and honesty behind the words he could feel from Drift.

"May Primus bless your union with a long peaceful functioning," the high priest said as he gathered his wits. He turned his attention to the gathering. "Please wish them well so they may form the physical bond."

This time Wing simply could not restrain himself. Fortunately, he and Drift were standing so close that Wing's pouncing on his mate couldn't knock the white mech to the floor. A laugh rippled through the crowd, mingling with Axe's squawk of surprise as Wing latched onto Drift, embracing him tightly.

A low rumble of approval came from Drift as he wrapped his arms around Wing, relishing the joy radiating off his mate ... his _bonded_, at least in law.

The other Knights began coming forward, offering their congratulations. Certain members of Wing's cadre gave Drift the evil optic (Marwir), but managed to refrain from saying anything too sour. GoldenRod and Titanium came forward to congratulate the new bonded, the Knights parting around the big triple changer they now thoroughly respected.

"Are you sure you won't stay?" Wing asked, his smile brighter than the suns overhead as he snuggled tightly against an amused Drift.

The big Autobot smiled slightly, resting a hand on Wing's shoulder. "We're not ready yet. We will be around a while longer; Goldie has an arrangement with Kimark for lessons in carving on armor. But one day, we will come back to stay."

The listening Knights murmured at that. They had watched his aerial dance with their leader, and then the sparring match that had drawn every Knight in the Citadel, on duty or not, to watch. It had been a long time since Dai Atlas had been so thoroughly challenged.

Dai Atlas had eventually won. But just barely, and Titanium had made the blue triple changer _work_ for it on a level that not even Axe could. It was the first time most of the gathered Knights had ever seen their leader face a true equal in combat. All had left impressed by Titanium. Many had left disturbed as their personal beliefs in Dai Atlas' invincibility had been as challenged as the blue mech.

Axe had simply hauled his batted, grinning mate to their quarters and enjoyed the after effects of a good battle.

"I'm sure every flier here dreads it," Drift offered a teasing smirk to the giant.

Titanium laughed at that. "Of that I have no doubt. It's been a very long time, but I still remember how to get young rookie fliers to fly in formation."

A groan rose at that, making the big triple changer laugh again before he patted both Drift and Wing on the shoulder. He offered Wing a datachip. "Some of my better memories of your creators," he grinned. "Should keep you entertained until we return."

"Thank you," Wing's smile brightened, somehow, at the groan from Dai Atlas.

Titanium grinned at the young couple and stepped back to let the other Knights crowd around them, congratulating with voice, field and touch.

It was all over quickly, the Knights all fully aware that the pair were unlikely to wait long, whether or not they reached their quarters.

Wing was practically vibrating with eager anticipation, barely able to wait for all the congratulating to be finished. He'd been waiting so long already and he wanted to bond his spark to Drift's so very badly.

As soon as the opportunity presented itself, he pulled his mate out of the room, intent on getting back to their quarters as quickly as possible. He found nothing but agreement in Drift, but he was still startled when Drift got a step ahead of him, twisted and wrapped his arms around Wing's shoulders inside the nacelles.

"Fly," Drift whispered the order.

Wing's nacelles revved to life as quickly as he could, taking to the air and making a beeline for their quarters. Touching down neatly on their balcony, he dragged Drift toward the berth, trilling happily at the roar of _arousal-desire-need_ in his mate.

"Finally over," Drift moaned into a heated kiss as he settled onto his back, spaulders folded neatly down.

"About fragging time," Wing replied, returning the kiss with equal heat. His hands were all over Drift's plating, intent on touching every bit of white armor he could reach. Drift arched and moaned, pressing into the touch even as his hands did the same to his lover.

"Wouldn't have been much longer, permission or no," Drift's mouth found an energon line in Wing's throat and sucked on it.

Wing leaned his helm back, giving Drift better access to his throat, moaning softly. His fingers lightly traced the silver patterns painted onto his mate's white armor, ghosting lightly over the seams. His field wrapped around Drift's, expressing just how badly he'd been looking forward to this.

The response, both in Drift's field and the unlocking of chest plates, made him tremble.

Wing's own chest plates folded back, his spark glowing like a small sun, threads of energy reaching out from every gap in its containing chamber. The white jet's hands stroked over Drift's sides and hips as Wing leaned down to nip at Drift's chest seams, coaxing the plates to open.

With a resonant moan Drift complied, willing, eager, for the contact and what is promised this time. Deep red tendrils of spark energy escaped his chest the moment they cracked open, reaching for the golden threads seeking them. Golden and red threads twined together, gleaming every shade of orange in existence as their sparks tugged each other closer. Wing leaned down, pressing his chest against Drift's, letting out a soft mewing cry as his spark eagerly embraced its other half.

The bliss, while familiar, was also a relief in that he didn't have to hold back anymore. Once his spark had tasted Drift's, it was so hard not to sooth his broken bond by establishing a new one with the spark so much like the one he'd lost.

As always in a merge, Drift allowed his spark to do as it wished, still too unfamiliar with controlling it to do much else. It was a method that had nearly cost him his frame only orns before, and he still didn't care. This was one thing that he could surrender himself fully to without reservation and he relished it.

Wing's optics flared golden as their sparks touched and merged, the jet mewling at the sensations. With no reason to hold back any longer he didn't, allowing his spark to merge completely with Drift's. For a brief, blissful moment, he forgot he had a metal shell, completely caught up in that complete joining of _self_. Memories flowed, even things they weren't aware they remembered. Designations, faces, frames, landscapes, starscapes ... but most of all, what their sparks knew of themselves that their conscious minds did not.

Drift, fierce, defiant, angry Drift, was very much the same spark that Drift had bonded to before. A spark entirely too much like his creator's. Intense, strong, with a sense of justice that had nothing to do with the law. It was different from his first bonded too, though. The long vorns bound to Too Pure For This World had changed Drift's very spark in ways Wing had never anticipated. It was far more like his own than his first bonded's had been, but it wasn't a good thing.

Deep down, there were scars that could not heal from the forced bonding and the Great Sword's meddling. Drift's spark had known and fought desperately to no avail. The Great Sword was simply far too powerful to resist for so long. It had broken some part of Drift's very spirit to make him more like its previous bearers.

Wing keened, feeling those scars. His spark, his essence, wrapped around Drift's, actually hissing a bit at Drift's Great Sword, trying instinctively, and probably futilely, to soothe those old hurts. Everything he was opened itself to Drift and was welcomed, embraced, accepted despite the similarity to the Great Sword that had hurt him. The similarity to Wing's first bonded, the differences, the guilty corner of Wing's spark that knew it wasn't entirely _Drift_ that had brought Wing to him.

Drift's spark responded with the reminder of who kissed whom first, of who had tried to bond first, long before they had reached the city. That it was just as guilty as Wing of trying to reclaimed the past and didn't completely see the other for who they were.

Another soft mew escaped Wing's vocalizer. He embraced all that was Drift, accepting everything that made his mate who and what he was. His voice, unheard by either of them, rose to a soft keen of bliss as the embrace and acceptance was returned.

For however it had happened, both of them _wanted_ this bond with all they were.

Black hands tightened on white armor, Wing clinging to his mate with all his strength, not even noticing he was doing so. His spark completely merged with Drift's, becoming almost as one. Their new bond spun itself together, bright as a new star, stronger than the strongest metals. Drift's roar mingled with Wing's keen as the overload of their frames came crashing through them, but neither of them were aware of the physical bliss. Only their sparks mattered as the merge reluctantly loosened, leaving a distant red glow in Wing's golden spark, darkening it slightly into the orange range while gold mingled with Drift's red, lightening it slightly.

Wing's spark was distinctly reluctant to let go of its other half, slowly unwinding itself from the red spark, except for that part of Wing that was part of Drift, and the part of Drift that was now part of Wing. Both sparks pulsed in sync, threads of energy stretching between them until their casings closed around them.

It was that moment that made it sink in fully what had _changed_. Wing expected it, to still feel Drift with him, but the grounder cycled his optics in surprise when he could still feel Wing's presence.

"It doesn't ever go away now?" Drift asked, somewhat hesitant.

"No," Wing purred. "You'll always feel me, and I will always feel you... As it settles and grows stronger, we'll be able to communicate through it, emotions and images and words." The jet stretched, snuggling against Drift's warm chassis, purring contentedly at the amazement radiating from Drift.

"No wonder it's insisted that we don't leave our quarters for at least nine orns," Drift chuckled, one hand stroking Wing's back. "It'll take that long to get used to who's feeling what."

"Mm-hmm." Wing leaned into the touch, looking for all the world like a big armored house cat. "Need to let the bond settle. And I wouldn't mind spending nine orns curled up with you."

"You wouldn't mind spending every orn cuddled next to me," Drift laughed, their fledgling bond pulsing with amusement. "Not that I'd mind it much either," he added with a rumbling purr. "I seem to remember something about needing to merge _often_ too."

The response was a throaty, purring laugh, though Wing didn't deny that at all. "As often as we can," he agreed, resting his chin on Drift's shoulder, his golden optics sparkling as Drift tipped his face for a kiss.

"We are going to be completely spoiled when someone decides to drag us out for duty," Drift snickered.

"I don't doubt it," Wing replied with a laugh. "They'll have to pick the lock on the door, first."

"And have their processors scarred for life at what they witness," Drift purred into another kiss as he rolled Wing to his back and settled on top of him. "I'm sure after that long we'll have gotten quite ... creative."


	19. A Sparkling From Challenger

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Drift/Wing, Dai Atlas/Axe  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash, Sparkling  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: Nanoklik = 1/8 second;  
>klik = 496 nanokliks62 seconds;  
>breem = 8 kliks8.27 minutes;  
>groon = 9 breem1.24 hours;  
>joor = 6 groon7.44 hours;  
>orn = 42 joor13.02 days;  
>decaorn = 32 orns1.14 years;  
>metacycle = 8 decaorn9.22 years;  
>vorn = 9 metacycles72 decaorn/83 years;  
>century = 96 vorns7968 years;  
>millennia = 1056 centuries101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

* * *

><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 19: A Sparkling From Challenger<strong>

* * *

><p>"Ready?" Wing asked, his entire frame vibrating. After nearly six hundred vorns bonded, they had finally been approved for a sparkling from the Circle of Swords.<p>

"As I'll ever be," Drift murmured, far more subdued. The bond hummed with anticipation from both of them, but for Drift, this was also a level of unknown he was utterly uncomfortable with. Once a sparkling was mature enough to begin training, he knew he could handle one, at least well enough not to damage its processors. But this, being handed an empty, unprogrammed protoform, watch it be sparked by all the unbonded Great Swords lead by Strength of Conviction and Sentry of Balance ... that was something else entirely.

Wing smiled at his mate, one wing stretching out to brush against Drift's armor. The jet's happiness filtered through their bond, bright and warm. _Happiness-nervousness_ came back from Drift, along with a clear idea of what was causing each.

Dai Atlas could not hide his smile when they entered the medbay, and Axe wasn't bothering to try. He'd been hoping to one day have a grand-creation, and the time had finally come.

Even Redline was in a good mood. It was a rare orn when he was charged with helping create life rather than scrambling to save it.

"Have either of you seen a sparkling protoform?" the chief medic asked the creators-to-be.

"I've seen Zephyr and Aurora's, when they would let me," Wing replied. "But not all that close."

Drift just shook his helm. He hadn't gotten close until Shattercoil was nearly ten vorns old and comfortable in her first hard armor upgrade. The pair may have accepted him as a Knight, but trusting him with their newly sparked and intensely vulnerable creation was a completely different matter.

Redline grumbled, though he understood completely. "There is little more than nanite clumps sticking to a basic internal structure right now. They don't look like much, but this way the spark can choose what format and frame it is most comfortable in as protomass is added."

Drift nodded. He'd heard it before, read everything he was given, looked at the pictures and memorized the growth patterns and needs at each stage. He was as ready as an education with no experience could make him.

Wing nodded, his golden optics as serious as Wing ever got. White wings shifted slightly, their silver markings glittering softly against the white. His hand found Drift's, their fingers twining together.

Redline smiled slightly and guided them to a back room where he kept the rarely used but critical protoform construction workshop. Right in the center, on a well lit table, was a topless box of loose nanite gel. Glossy, shining black, it was impossible to see inside it.

The medic reached him, well familiar with what was there, and pulled out a skeletal form not even as long as his arm. He let the nanite gel drop off for a moment, then turned and offered it to Wing. It was painfully clear that Drift was not ready to handle it, though Redline knew he was perfectly safe. Zephyr had traumatized the young Knight terribly when Shattercoil was very young.

Wing stepped forward, carefully accepting the protoform. He cradled it carefully, not wanting to damage it in any way. Golden optics examined it for a moment, then turned to meet Drift's blue. Faint awe trickled through their bond, from the jet to the grounder, and Drift smiled.

"So this gets presented to the swords, and then ... it's alive?" Drift's voice betrayed how difficult it was for him to wrap his processors around the entire concept. His hand on Wing's shoulder and pale blue optics on the sparkling protoform were warm, though.

Wing riffled his wings. "I've never seen it, but yes, basically. _They_ know more, but getting it out of them is next to impossible." He flicked his pinions at Axe and Dai Atlas.

"It ruins the magic," Axe said patiently, but his rich blue optics glittered with amusement. "Can't ruin the magic."

Wing rolled his optics playfully at the black Knight, while Dai Atlas chuckled softly. The large cobalt triple changer waited patiently, his ruby optics warm, as the soon-to-be-creators gathered themselves and turned to face their leaders, ready.

"Let's go," Wing said firmly. "I want to find out our creation's designation."

Dai Atlas' smile widened slightly as the Circle's leader led the way out of the medical bay, down to the vault where the unbonded Great swords waited. Axe walked next to Wing and Drift, his field brushing against theirs, communicating how happy he was to finally see them going before the Circle of Swords.

It was _not_ going to be traumatic, like it had been for Drift.

Axe would do anything to ensure that. He had little doubt that another disaster before the Great Swords would drive Drift to do something stupid, or worse. Even after this long there wasn't a Knight in the Circle of Light that didn't know just how uneasy the truce was between Drift and his blade. Not one who didn't know what had happened to Drift in there, even if they didn't know the details.

The white grounder had spoken the unvarnished truth in his vows to Wing. The jet the was only reason he was here, the only reason he had carried on the ways of a Knight untrained, the only reason Drift had finished his training. He would do anything for Wing. But to loose a sparkling after what he went through, that might be too much.

A gentle prod across their bond from Dai Atlas pulled Axe from his grim thoughts. It was important to focus on positive things, least the spark that was summoned be one of the dark ones that would turn on the Circle and city no matter how well it was raised.

Wing leaned his shoulder against Drift's, stretching out one wing against the white grounder's back. Even after this long bonded to Drift, he still liked to have some part of him touching his mate at any opportunity. Drift happened to like it too. Touch meant a lot to him, just not in the same ways it meant to Wing.

Dai Atlas palmed open the heavy door of the vault, the lights coming on as the four mechs entered. The jewels of the Great Swords glittered at them, greeting them ... or rather greeting the four kin they bore.

Unlike when Drift had been here a small table with a lip had been placed in the center of the room.

"Put the protoform there," Dai Atlas motioned to Wing. "Think of the kind of spark you wish to raise and push those traits out through your fields. The Great Swords grant us who they wish, but they will often be swayed by our desires. They do want the sparkling to return here to bear one of them. That can not happen if the sparkling is too much trouble for its creators to raise as a Knight."

Wing nodded, carefully placing the protoform on the table. Taking a tiny step back, Wing reached for Drift's hand, meshing his fingers with his mate's. Golden optics dimming slightly, the jet cleared his mind, thinking of the kind of spark he hoped for. He could feel Drift doing the same.

Strength, tenacity, devotion ... those traits Wing expected Drift to desire. Traits that he was proud of in himself.

Kindness ... that was more of a surprise.

Drift _desired_ a sparkling for this city, not for the outside where a hard spark would serve them better.

Wing hummed softly, squeezing his mate's hand gently. As Dai Atlas had instructed, he pushed those traits out through his field, to touch the waiting Great Swords.

Energy crackled around them as the collection from two universes sent tendrils to each other, uniting their energies and drawing on the strength of the living in the room.

When Drift felt the portal to the Well of All Sparks open his processor nearly snapped. Comprehension hit him of why these swords, the gems, could summon a spark. The bonds did not break.

They didn't call a new spark. They pulled one of their previous bearers back to inhabit the offered frame.

Wing's hand tightened on Drift's, golden optics turning toward shellshocked blue. The jet wanted to wrap his arms around his mate, but he was almost afraid to move lest he disrupt what was happening.

Then he felt it, could almost see it amongst the crackling lines of energy. A spark. A rich red orb, much like Drift's, coalesced from the white mass.

Wing gave a tiny chirr, his gaze fixed on that red orb. It was beautiful, just like his mate's. One wing shyly flared out, touching Drift's white armor. Awe and anticipation flowed through the bond. It was enough to draw Drift back to what was happening and not his panic at his eventual fate.

The orb bobbed slightly, then drifted to the tiny, skeletal frame with it's minimal systems and limited nanite mass. Slowly it circled the tiny construct, then circled it again, letting out a distressed pulse.

Wing looked over at Dai Atlas and Axe uncertainly, then back to the red spark. Sidling closer to Drift, he pressed his shoulder against his mate's, a whirring sound rising from his vocalizer.

Of them all, Drift grasped it first. He focused inward, on making his spark pulse in time with this new one, offering it a connection. His engine revved, deep and resonant, displaying the power in his frame through vibration.

~Protect it,~ Drift managed across the bond, more in a sense of what the spark needed to feel than in true words.

Wing nodded, revving his engines, the higher, powerful hum of his jet engines building over the deeper roar of his mate's. His wings splayed out to their full span, showing his strength as his engines revved to a howl, just shy of taking off.

All the while Dai Atlas and Axe watched in fascination from the edge of the circle near the door. The glowing red spark wavered, flicking out strands of energy from where it hovered over the sparkling protoform.

Six nanokliks. Seven. Eight.

The ruby red orb began to settle, sinking into the protoform mass, electrifying every molecule of it before settling into the spark chamber that took up a full half of the chest.

Wing's golden optics were fixed on that red spark, his engines howling over the roar of Drift's engine, outstretched wings quivering ever so slightly. Hot air and the sharp tang of jet engine blew out behind him, washing over his creators. Axe actually sneezed once, sidling a bit closer to Dai Atlas.

As the spark settled into the spark chamber, Wing let out a tiny cry, clutching Drift's hand. In an odd turn of events, it was Drift that calmed his mate, idling his engine down until it was a low, soft purr and silently encouraging Wing to settle as well.

"It's staying," Drift nuzzled Wing. "Going to take Primus himself to pull that little pit spawn out now."

Wing's engines spooled down slowly, from a howl to their normal soft idle. White pinions, which had been fully spread and vibrating with tension, relaxed, settling into their usual positions. The jet pulled in one wing, shifting so the other brushed Drift's armor. He returned the nuzzle, making a relieved sound, before looking at his creators to see if it was safe to pick up their sparkling.

"Yes," Dai Atlas nodded while Axe beamed at the scene. "Hold it close to your sparks so it associates your fields with his creators. It's best if he recharges between you or on you for the first decaorn or two."

"You can ask his designation once he boots up from the nap," Axe added helpfully.

Wing carefully picked up the sparkling, cradling the small form to his chest. "Hello," the jet whispered to the tiny being in his arms, his field pulsing with wonder.

Turning to Drift, he leaned against his mate, the sparkling between them, leaning his helm against the white grounder's. Drift's field reached out to mesh with Wing's, then much more cautiously brushing against the tightly compacted field of his new creation.

"You know all the pits you put them through?" Drift chuckled softly, very cautiously reaching a hand up to brush his creation's glimmering black protoform. "Get ready for payback."

Hearing Drift's comment, Dai Atlas laughed from over by the door. Axe's laugh was as close to the clichéd evil cackle as the laid-back black mech could come.

"Oh yes," Dai Atlas replied, his ruby optics glittering with anticipation. "Now it's your turn to be run ragged."

Wing looked around Drift, making a face at them. "Just remember, we have the right to ask you to sparkling-sit for us," he warned them.

"Which is when they'll teach him the worst habits and all the ways to manipulate you," Drift snickered.

"Come, let's go to your quarters. He needs to recharge between you for as long as he can." Axe smiled, his spark swelling with pleasure at witnessing his creation, happy, bonded and with a newly sparked creation in his arms.


	20. Striking Out

**Fandom**: Transformers IDW AU with a dose of Bayverse and G1  
><strong>Author<strong>: gatekat and ultrarodimus on LJ  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Drift/Wing, Axe/Dai Atlas, GoldenRod/Titanium, Striker/Thorn  
><strong>Rating<strong>: Pg-13  
><strong>Codes<strong>: AU, Slash,  
><strong>Summary<strong>:  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page (gatekat-fics .livejournal. com/290 .html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
><strong>Notes<strong>: nanoklik = 1/8 second; klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds; breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes; groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours; joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours; orn = 42 joor/13.02 days; decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years; metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years; vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years; century = 96 vorns/7968 years; millennia = 1056 centuries/101,376 vorns/7,944,096 years (7.944 million years)  
>::text:: comm chatter<br>~text~ hardline/bond chatter

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><p><strong>Hunters from the Light 20: Striking Out<strong>

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><p>It had been a long road to get this far.<p>

For their first time raising a sparkling, Drift and Wing had done an exceptional job of it. Striker was a young, handsome mech, almost finished his training as a Knight and preparing for the orn when he would take his place in the Circle. His creators and grand-creators were very proud of him, despite how much of a handful he had been as a small sparkling and how much of a handful he still was as a young adult. He had all the defiance of both his creators, the temper and combat talent befitting Drift and the quick smile and charming nature of Wing ... along with the jet's sleek wings.

Titanium and GoldenRod had returned to New Crystal City, this time without their faction insignias and having no plans to leave. The big purple and silver triple changer had explained to Dai Atlas that they'd finally had enough, were sick to the spark of the endless war and death. GoldenRod had added that he'd been sickened by some of what he'd seen among the ranks of the other Autobots, and neither had wanted any part of it anymore.

The pair had returned to the city, taking up Dai Atlas' promise of a place to settle permanently. Neither lived in the Citadel, finding a place in the city, where GoldenRod set up as an artist and armor painter, and Titanium taught precision/formation flying. Both had found city life to their liking, and the city and Knights were quick to favor their services.

Right now, however, GoldenRod was enjoying evening energon with some friends in the Citadel's dinning hall while Titanium was training a search and rescue unit.

"He's trying to get laid again," Drift's smirk was hidden by his cube, but the deep humor wasn't hidden by anything. Only the focus of his optics betrayed the cause of the seemingly random comment.

"Oh?" Wing looked up from his energon, then turned to look for their sparkling. "Who is it this time?"

Dai Atlas snorted into his energon, trying not to inhale the stuff into his air intakes. Putting down the cube, he tilted his helm to watch, amusement in the set of his wings and the smile lurking on his face. It was even easier to tell when the young jet wanted some attention than it had been with Wing at that age. Striker had all of both his creator's carnal desires and none of the subtlety time had taught them.

That thought made Axe nearly choke on his energon. ~They haven't learned a thing if what I walked in on in the conference room the other orn is anything to go by,~ he snickered to his mate. ~Their creation's just that much bolder.~

Bold, or crazy. For the sleek white and red jet had a seductive swagger that more often than not worked, and was headed directly for GoldenRod.

~This is going to be entertaining,~ Dai Atlas replied, a snicker clearly coming across the bond.

Noting what Striker was up to, Wing groaned. The white jet almost got up to head their creation off, but Drift caught his arm, convincing him to sit and watch, and let GoldenRod take care of it himself.

The golden mech was at another table nearby, perched on one of the backless stools that the Knights preferred, due to their Great Swords. He was leaning on the table, the overhead lights gleaming across his sleek golden finish, glinting off the patterns in blue and green painted across his shoulders and upper arms, and coiling vine-like along the leg extended out under the table. He was happily chatting with a couple Knights nearby, one almost pure black, the other white and purple.

"Hay there handsome," Striker purred as he slid in next to GoldenRod, standing between him and the empty seat next to him. "Your usual company seems to be missing."

The golden mech looked at the young jet, blinking blue optics as he took in a charming smile, bright ruby optics and sleek multi-jointed wings flared in display. "Pardon me?" It took him a moment to process what the red and white mech had said, and blue optics widened ever so slightly as he placed the suggestive edge on the mech's field.

"Titanium's not with you," Striker rephrased easily, extending his field to tease along the golden mech's, promising pleasure. "I'm looking for company too," he purred.

GoldenRod raised an optic rim. "Oh, really. I think you'd have better luck elsewhere, personally."

"Now why is that?" Striker refused to take the first hint and reached out to trace a finger boldly along a design on GoldenRod's shoulder. "It's not like he's here."

The golden-armored former Autobot leaned away from the touch. "Hands off, please. There are many other mechs and femmes in here to sidle up to; I'm fairly sure one of them would be happy to oblige you."

"Quite a few," Striker agreed without shame, well aware that more than half the residents would be happy to share a berth with him, for a joor or for a night. "You're the most attractive one here, however. It's not often he lets you wander around here alone."

"Titan's busy training a SAR team. And usually I'm quite fine coming here on my own. Everyone else knows to keep their mitts to themselves," was the response. GoldenRod took a sip of his energon, eying Striker and judging just how determined the young mech was. Knowing his creators, the white and red jet had enough tenacity and stubbornness for an entire unit, and at least as much desire for pleasure.

"Have they even tried?" Striker asked conversationally, honestly a bit bewildered by the response to his advance.

GoldenRod snorted. "No. They're all aware that I'm taken, and they're all well aware that Titan is a warrior on par with Dai Atlas."

"Why limit yourself?" Striker asked, cocking his helm and nearly biting his glossa to keep from adding anything about over-possessive mates like his creators and grand-creators.

"Titanium is my bondmate, and he's not that great about sharing," the golden mech informed the young jet. "Shoo." He flicked one hand in a "scat" manner.

Across the room Wing's wings twitched in displeasure when Striker didn't take the clear dismissal, instead catching GoldenRod's hand and stroking a finger along the sensitive palm. His creation didn't see, but the tall black Knight sitting next to GoldenRod did.

GoldenRod rolled his optics. "Persistent, aren't you." He extricated his hand from Striker's, setting it on the table.

"Of course," Striker smiled, warm, affectionate and aroused as his fingers found another line of filigree to trace. In his field was also the determination that tended to get him what he wanted. "You are worth being persistent for."

The golden mech snorted, batting Striker's fingers gently away from his armor. "You'll have better luck trying elsewhere."

Before Striker could respond, the slender black mech on GoldenRod's other side stood, took two steps and caught Striker by the shoulder to spin him away from GoldenRod and into a kiss that all but melted the youth's wings.

GoldenRod raised both optic rims at that. "That's one way to deal with him, I suppose..." His spoiler twitched, hearing his mate laughing through their bond.

~Try not to fall out of the sky laughing this time,~ GoldenRod teased, getting the mental equivalent of a raspberry in response.

With a tug, Thorn pulled an unresisting Strike towards the door, several snickers following them.

Dai Atlas' wings were twitching as the Circle leader tried his very best not to laugh. Next to him, Axe was showing far less restraint. Wing sighed, rolling his optics before giving his amused mate a _look_.

"I dare anyone to honestly say they're surprised at any of that," Drift snickered.

"Like creator, like creation," Axe snickered.

"I was not that bad!" Wing protested, glaring at the black Knight.

"I was worse," Drift chuckled, reaching over to tease his mate's nearest wing. "He takes after us both."

The white jet vented heavily, stretching out the teased wing to lightly poke his mate in the arm. "Which means that teaching him self-control is probably out of the question."

Dai Atlas had been taking a sip of energon when Wing made that comment, and barely avoided spitting it back out, making an interesting sound as he tried to keep from either laughing or choking.

"Decidedly," Drift responded solemnly, somehow managing to keep from cracking up. "He's everything best and worst about us ... a perfect match."

That was just too much for Dai Atlas. The blue mech gave up trying not to laugh, shaking his helm at the both of them. "Just like with you two, life with Striker is certainly never going to be boring."

"Just hope that whoever he ends up with is _mellow_," Drift winked at the pair. "I can only imagine the chaos created if he pairs up with a spark as rebellious as his own."

"Oh, Primus," Wing groaned. "I don't even want to _consider_ that. He creates enough chaos as it is already."

Axe snickered. "We thought the same of you, once. And look who you ended up with." He inclined his helm to Drift, grinning at the white grounder.

"Yes, but I make him _seem_ mellow," Drift teased back.

Axe laughed at that. "Both you and creatorhood have mellowed him out. To a point, anyway."

Wing gave his creator a _look_, to which Axe responded with a smirk. Dai Atlas was struggling not to loose his composure again, hiding his snickers behind his cube.

"Only in some ways," Drift purred, reaching out across his bond to remind Wing of exactly how _not_ mellow the jet was.

Wing squawked, swatting playfully at his mate. If he could blush, his faceplate would have been a very interesting color right then.

"I don't think there is a Knight here that isn't well aware of how you two _haven't_ mellowed," Axe chuckled.

Wing made a face at the black triple changer, trying to look fierce but failing. Not even Dai Atlas could restrain a chuckle at his expression.

Drift leaned over and whispered in his bonded's audio. "Keep that up and I'll have to pull you out of here like Thorn did to our creation."

Wing stuck out his glossa at his mate, making Dai Atlas laugh at him. "Never grew up," the blue mech chuckled, reaching over to tap Wing lightly on the helm, pulling back his hand to avoid the resulting swat.

It made both their mates laugh, and Drift caught Wing's far cheek with a hand and turned his face for a searing kiss that left no doubt what he had on his processors.

~Mine,~ Drift growled across the bond, hot and bright and oh so seductive to the mech it was directed at.

~Yours,~ Wing purred in response, returning the kiss.

~And after this we won't be seeing them for another few joors,~ Axe commented to Dai Atlas, who snorted softly.

~Better not see them,~ Dai Atlas replied, watching his adopted creations wind themselves up before Wing pulled Drift to his pedes and towards the door.

Axe watched the two go, scooting a little closer to blue armor. "Soon, it will be Striker's turn to join the Circle as a full Knight."

"Which will be time to crash Wing _and_ Drift when we tell them of their new training," Dai Atlas got that evil look on his face that made the Knights that saw it twitch uneasily.

Axe laughed, swatting blue armor. "You're freaking out our Knights. They're not used to seeing that expression on you." He leaned against his mate's side. "I'm looking forward to seeing their reactions... They raised Striker well, better than could have been anticipated."

"That they did," he agreed and schooled his face to something resembling the stern look he usually wore. "In spite of it all, Striker is a fine young mech, and he'll make a fine Knight. It's been vorns since he committed a serious infraction."

"So they do have what it takes the lead the Circle after us." Axe kept his voice down, not wanting to be overheard. While Knights could keep some things secret, other pieces of news spread like wildfire. This was not a topic Axe wanted all over the Citadel before he and his mate had had a chance to talk to the pair in question.

~Yes,~ Dai Atlas agreed, switching over to their bond for privacy as they finished their energon. ~They balance each other as well. Drift has the cold edge that even all that time at war could not create in Wing.~

~Drift can execute a traitor without it breaking him,~ Axe agreed.

~And all that time at war could not crush Wing's bright core, either.~ Dai Atlas put down his empty cube.

Axe simply smiled and leaned against his mate, bond and engine humming with gratitude for the fact.

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><p>and the end of this story, but if you find Striker intriguing, we're writing <em>Charm and Charmer<em>, the story of Striker/Thorn.

Striker: img62 .imageshack .us/img62/7862/strikerrecolor .png (also by switchxtrick)

Thorn: switchxtrick .deviantart .com/art/TFKnight-Thorn-272121375


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